


Switch

by truc



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Kent is Superman, Bruce Superman is weird, Bruce does not trust aliens, Bruce has superpowers, Bruce hates Lex, Bruce is a photographer, Bruce is trolling himself, Clark Batman is more like Nightwing, Clark Wayne is Batman, Clark is an engineer, Clark is trolling himself, Clark likes everyone, Clark likes riling up Bruce, Except he saves cats from trees?, First Meeting, Gen, Identity Porn, Lex hates everyone, Lois hates Bruce, M/M, Superman is like Brucie Wayne, alternative universe, and he wears a mask, even if he is one, they are all liars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-10-07 11:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: Bruce's Kryptonian parents sent him to Earth when Krypton was destroyed. Martha and Jonathan Kent became his foster parents shortly after.Clark Wayne is the son of the wealthiest family in Gotham, Martha Wayne and Thomas Wayne.Clark Wayne and Bruce Kent meet at a gala. They are both liars...





	1. Gala

"Kent," Lois muttered as her foot tapped the floor, "We'll be late."

Bruce ignored her as he tuned his camera's setting.

"Stop playing with your toy and hurry up."

Bruce lifted his head just long enough to send her an indignant icy glare, "It's not a toy. It's a D850." As if that meant anything to anyone outside of the photography industry.

Lois hated working with him. Granted, he was a genius photographer that had the knack of taking a picture at exactly the right moment, but he was also a certified moody antisocial jerk.

Impatient, Lois insisted, "Do you even understand how lucky we are to be the ones covering the Wayne gala? It's the event of the season. You better not blow it for me."

Bruce waved her concerns away, "We both know you're only here to spy on Lex Luthor, not report on the gala."

Lois lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She gave him a seductive smirk, "Are you sure I'm not here to seduce the famous Clark Wayne?"

Unimpressed, Bruce eyed her down and up and then, he started walking in the gala's direction.

"What the hell are you implying, you bastard?" Lois bellowed behind him as she struggled to catch up to his long strides. Bruce didn't even slow down as a gentleman should. Instead, he deadpanned, "Hurry up."

Lois mentally promised she would get her revenge back, whether by pressing her high heels on his feet or not was yet to be determined.

The security check took a lot more time even with their press badges just because of Bruce's irksome attitude and the way he was overwhelmingly underdressed for the event (who the hell just wears clean pants and a sweater to a three-piece event?).

As they walked in the gala, Lois looked at her distastefully dressed companion and asked, "I'm not making rounds with you. Just make sure to take 'pretty' photos of everyone and that should cover it."

Bruce shrugged and disappeared in the crowd without verbally answering her.

Why did Perry always want them to work together? She really had no idea. They already had a photographer, namely Jimmy Olsen, at the Daily Planet, but, for big events, Perry always sent his independent collaborator photographer on the job.

She sighed and started making the round. Unbeknown to her, someone had been looking at both her and Bruce's arrival.

Clark Wayne was brusquely dragged out of his thoughts when Vicky Vale interjected as she touched his wrist, "Clark? Are you lost in thoughts again?"

He redded and stuttered, "Uh... Do you know the persons that just got in?"

She turned around and saw her colleague, "You mean Lois Lane?"

Clark, of course, knew who the famous reporter was, but he was curious about her strange companion, "And the man?"

"Which one?"

"Uh," Clark glanced around and saw the man watching a pretty black-haired woman seduce an old man. Clark pointed him out, "The man who's dressed in a sweater?"

Vicky grimaced at the sight, "Bruce Kent."

"Who?" Clark was familiar with his work because he was the specialist at documenting the mysterious Superman's damage on property and Clark had to know more about the Metropolis's strange hero. Despite his research, there wasn't much about the photographer's background online.

Vicky sighed, "He's a photographer."

"Do you know him?"

"I worked with him a few times. His photos are top notch; his personality not so much."

"Can... could you introduce me to him?" Clark asked. Vicky's jaw dropped. Clark wasn't sure what kind of misstep he had done this time.

"This is the first time I've heard of you asking for an introduction. Don't tell me that's your type!?! I mean, he's cute looking and all, but you really don't want to be stuck in a room with him, trust me on that," Vicky exclaimed much too loudly, thus attracting stares from several persons around them.

"Not what I meant... My mom likes artsy pictures. I wanted to get her a special gift?" Clark didn't even have to fake the blush overtaking his cheeks, baffled at her misinterpretation of his interest. She seemed relieved, "I'll introduce you. Come along."

Clark clumsily followed Vicky's assured steps through the room. He'd almost fell at least once and profoundly apologized just to keep his cover intact as a shy billionaire heir wading through a world that wasn't his.

"Bruce?" Vicky tried to get the man's attention as they arrived. He didn't even glance in their direction as he took a picture of the same woman he'd been looking at since his arrival. Clark blinked. The woman had just stolen the man's watch, but only someone as trained as Clark would have been able to detect the theft.

"Bruce Kent?" Vicky insisted when it became clear he wasn't heeding them.

"What do you want," the man growled back as he took a picture of something else.

Clark could sense the reporter's growing anger at being ignored by the ultimate underdressed person attending the gala.

"I would like to introduce you to a potential customer."

The man not-so-subtly sighed at the interruption and finally turned a glare on Vicky, "Go on."

Vicky's smile was blatantly fake as she gestured to Clark, "Clark Wayne, Bruce Kent."

Clark offered his hand in a reserved but polite way Alfred would have approved, "Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kent."

Bruce glared at the hand for a moment before giving him his hand in a firm if not recalcitrant handshake, "Wayne."

"Clark is fine."

Vicky lifted an eyebrow at the silence becoming more and more prolonged and awkward, "Clark, I'll leave you to your business. I've got to get some quotes. Call me if you get lonely, sweety." With that, she escaped, leaving an unhappy Bruce with a timid Clark. Bruce took another photo of the same woman as before. She was stealing again.

"Why are you taking photos of her? I don't think she's anyone famous." Clark finally broke the silence. 

"Personal collection," Bruce grunted in a way that implied he was creepily compiling photos of pretty women on his bedroom wall for personal "quality" time. Clark kept his face blank at the other man's strange facade.

"She's stealing, isn't she?" Clark finally added. For the first time since his meeting with the man, Clark felt the man's full attention directed on him, his blue eyes assessing him in an almost unearthly calculating way. Clark controlled his heartbeat like the monks had taught him, just to keep his wits about. He had the sudden insight Bruce Kent was dangerous.

"What makes you say that?" the other man answered with suspicious.

Clark pointed to the first woman beside the man the thief had seduced, "The woman is looking for her necklace that mysteriously vanished and the woman you've been taking pictures of also mysteriously vanished."

Bruce's eyes narrowed at him, "Aren't you the detective."

Clark swallowed back his apprehensions, "Aren't you going to call security and give proof?"

Bruce shrugged, "Not my business."

"What she did wasn't right," Clark admonished.

Bruce crossed his arms, "Why don't you right all this world's wrongs then, Boy Scout?"

Clark glanced around and couldn't find her anymore. He had been too distracted by his conversation with the strange man to keep an eye on the thief.

"Clark," a familiar female voice called out.

Clark whipped his head in the sound's direction, "Mom."

Martha Wayne smiled before her eyes focused on Bruce Kent who had silently been walking away, "Bruce." The man froze with his shoulders hunched.

"You met my son, didn't you?"

Bruce reluctantly nodded. Martha stepped closer to the awkward looking man.

"Are you doing well for yourself nowadays, Bruce?" Martha gently asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," he diligently answered.

"I've seen your 'Water and Ice' photo album. It was simply breathtaking."

The blush growing on the man's cheek and the darting gaze couldn't have been all Clark's imagination. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Oh spare me the Ma'am, Bruce. We're not strangers. Dr. Thompkins even tells me you've been volunteering at her clinic," Martha responded with her usual charming smile.

Bruce looked so distraught at Clark's mother's kindness, Clark almost pitied him.

"Clark, Bruce is an amazing person I met in Metropolis almost a decade ago." It took a moment for Clark to think about where she had probably met him.

"Bruce," she patted the stiff man's shoulder, "be nice to my son. He's shy, but he's a good person. I'll be looking forward to talking with you after I've finished my first round, Bruce." Martha Wayne walked away from them as suddenly as she had whirled in.

"You know my mother?" Clark asked. The man's embarrassed stiffness become defensive, "I met her before." Okay. Not a line of inquiry Bruce Kent seemed to be anxious to resume. Not that Clark blamed him if he had met Clark's mother through her orphanage's funding.

"You're from Metropolis, right?"

If the man's tone at his last answer had been stilted, his face was now stony, "What's your interest?"

Clark scratched his neck, at loss for words, "I've been curious about Superman's activities."

Bruce's jaw set.

"It seems you are closely following what he's been up to," Clark continued.

"I do," Bruce agreed as he took a photo of a couple dancing.

"Why?"

There was another awkward silence before Bruce answered, "I don't have time to answer your inane questions."

Clark waited for a beat as Bruce relocated and he silently followed the strange man through the crowd.

Bruce snapped another picture. Clark decided on observing what he was doing. The man's honest prickliness actually made him sympathetic in Clark's opinion compare to the artificial behaviour most high society people exhibited at a gala. Besides, he was probably one of strangest person he'd ever encountered; Bruce almost seemed to be trying too hard to make a bad impression.

"What are you doing," the photographer snarled after a few moments of work.

"I'm waiting for you to be available to answer my questions," Clark innocently answered as he continued watching the photographer's movement.

Some veins on Bruce's forehead twitched, "I'm always going to be busy."

"Cool," Clark commented.

It took a few more minutes of silence before Bruce actually cracked, which in Clark's opinion, was an homage to the man's patience.

"Maybe I haven't been clear enough," a barely calm Bruce intoned, "I'm busy. Go away."

"Why?" Clark responded with amusement piercing through his voice, "I'm not in your way. Besides, it's fun watching you work. I feel like I'm learning from the expert."

Bruce scowled at him.

"Clark," a familiar grating voice intoned from behind both of them. Clark noticed the darkening eyes of the photographer and the way his whole body stiffened.

Clark plastered a timid smile on, "Lex, what pleasure... to see you."

"I missed you," Lex said and he clearly didn't mean a word of it as they shook their hands.

Lex's eyes raked over Clark's figure seemingly calculating on how to use him. Clark's inquisitive mind knew Lex was up to something.

"I've heard you're back amongst the living," Lex continued.

Clark nodded politely, eyes noticing Bruce wasn't actively escaping in the crowd. Good, he'd still have a chance to gather intel on Superman.

"Apparently, you're interested in engineering again," the bald man added with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes."

Lex twirled his glass in his hand, "Do you still have your... strange hobby?"

Clark wanted to ask if becoming Batman was a hobby or not.

"Which one?" he nervously asked as he pushed his glasses on his nose.

Lex's lips curled up, "Your... alien interest."

"Yes..." Clark confusedly answered. That clearly wasn't how he had thought the conversation would have gone. He had been sure Lex was here to recruit him as a mole against his father.

"Well," Lex's gaze drifted around the room before returning to his face. He leaned forward so nobody except Clark could hear him, "I'm assembling a team of experts to investigate Superman's origin."

Clark's ears perked up, "You think... Superman might be an alien, not a metahuman?"

"Mr. Luthor and Mr. Wayne, how perfect to find you together. I've got questions for the both of you," Lois Lane startled them just as Clark was starting to think he'd have a lead on Superman. He shoved down his frustration.

"Miss Lane," Lex's voice coldly responded.

"Miss?" a confused Clark stuttered.

The brunette's piercing eyes, strangely reminiscent of another encounter that evening, rested on him as she offered a hand, "Lois Lane. Reporter extraordinaire. I want an interview with both of you." Clark blushed as he shook her head, "I'm... I'm not sure how I can contribute to anything..."

"You're the face of the future of wealth in Metropolis and Gotham. I want an article on your aspirations and your visions of your town, especially with how quickly things are changing," Lois seriously answered.

"I'll have my assistant contact the Daily Planet when I have something to announce publicly," Lex icily told her.

"I... I'm just a normal engineer employee at Wayne Entreprises," Clark responded, "I don't have anything worthwhile to present. I'm sorry."

"Then," relentless Lois continued, "can I have a quote about the superheroes appearing all over the world?"

"Are they even heroes?" Lex forcefully retorted, "or are some of them threats masquerading as heroes?"

Lois lifted an eyebrow, "You don't consider Flash and Batman to be heroes?"

Lex snorted, "I was mostly talking about the colourful buffoon you distastefully named Superman."

Lois frowned, "He saved a considerable amount of people around the world."

"Yes," Lex's eyes gleamed in hatred, "But he's clearly hiding his capacity and the origin of his power."

"Is that your quote?"

Lex glared at her, "He's a menace to society, that's what he is. He might help people now, but it's evident he's doing it to lure humans to sleep before he takes over humanity after learning all of our weaknesses."

"He seems to have... good intentions," Clark interjected. Lex frowned at him and Clark winced. After more or less polite goodbyes, Lex walked away. Clark wanted to sigh; there was no way Lex was going to give him more information on Superman after he had learned of Clark's stance on the subject.

"You have to admit, Mr. Wayne, Superman hasn't made any efforts to communicate with anyone. There's no witness who's got anything worthwhile to say about him except that he's a flirtatious idiot that has strange powers," Lois commented.

"It... doesn't mean we should be suspicious of his actions. He's... done well."

Lois gave him a wry look, "Would you happen to be an idealist, Mr. Wayne?"

Clark blushed and averted his eyes, "I... just believe it's a bad idea to doubt someone's goodwill without cause."

The look on Lois's face was incredulous, "You can't be that naive. Everyone's out to take advantage of you, Mr. Wayne."

Clark looked stricken by the final acidity of what she had said, "If... you doubt him... so much, why did you name him... Superman?" 

Lois looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head, "Even from the small amount of his power he's displayed, it seems he might be this world's strongest person." Clark could see something else had caught her attention.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Wayne," she commented, "Here's my card in case you change idea on the interview. Everyone is anxious to know what your plans for the future are."

Clark took the card with a polite thanks and noticed the reporter had already disappeared. So much for that lead on Superman...

It was almost time for him to go out as Batman to watch the drug deal go down on the East side. He only had a few more moments to spare. 

His eyes automatically zoomed on Bruce Kent's blue sweater as he seemed to be heading for the exit. Clark had to hide his smirk; he still had to get some information out of the reclusive photographer. 

Clark stumbled along the way to cut Bruce's exit, 'accidentally' knocking into people and apologizing in anxious stutters. Clark had calculated to arrive just before the photographer and the annoyed look on the man's face was well worth the effort. 

"Bruce, are you heading out without saying goodbye?"

The photographer glared at him. Clark smirked. 

He was surprised when Bruce swiftly took a picture of him. 

"Why did you take a picture?" 

Bruce seemed to be looking at the picture before he showed it to Clark, "Do you think this photo would help you pretend you are meek?" 

Case in point, Clark's confident and superior smirk in the photo was the opposite of meek. Clark wanted to kick himself. He had been foolish enough not to even try to keep his cover intact with the photographer. 

Bruce's hard eyes seemed to be able to see through his every thought, "I don't care why you even pretend to be a clumsy stuttering mess but I would advise you stay away from me if you don't want me to publish this photo, Mr. Wayne." 

Clark chuckled, "You can publish the photo, Bruce." The photographer twitched at the use of his surname. "I just pretend to be timid and weak to keep the gold diggers away from me. Everyone thinks I'm a dull conversationalist and not a dancer. If you publish it, I'll have to actually dance and entertain gold diggers at galas, but I figure it's probably worth the trade of figuring out why you go out of your way to get people to stay away from you." 

Bruce glared and left without another word. 

Clark waited for a beat before exhaling the breathe he had been holding. His bluff seemed to have worked. Thank God...


	2. Batman's plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a bit more background on Clark Wayne.

"Clark."

The man in question woke with an alarmed look in his eyes, "Lucius? Is there an emergency?"

The older man simply shook his head and crossed his arms, "You know, if you don't want to look like the boss's spoiled brat, you will have to avoid falling asleep at work."

Clark stretched, "Yeah, that would go completely against the point I'm trying to make."

"Why don't you just talk to your father?" Lucius proposed.

Clark looked at Lucius, "You know that's not going to fix anything. We both said what we had to."

The mild disappointment imprinted the older man's face imparted a vague guilty feeling in Clark.

"In that case," The older man slowly continued, "I would suggest you follow a schedule that includes sleep in it."

Clark blearily glanced around before answering with a yawn, "The drug bust went well enough, but I didn't know there was going to be a hostage situation in the Western section of town just an hour after. Crime does not sleep."

Lucius arched an eyebrow, parodying a scolding teacher's mannerism, "Crime may not sleep, but you should, Master Wayne."

Clark protested, "Lucius, don't call me Master Wayne; you know how I hate it. It's so pretentious."

"Then, don't make trouble for me," Lucius grinned.

Clark stretched his arms, "I already finished the blueprint of the external drive." 

"That's fast," Lucius commented, visibly impressed. 

"Don't worry, Lucius, I'm still adequately competent for my job. You didn't hire me in vain," Clark added with a wink. 

"That's nice to know," the older man deadpanned, "I would hate to have to find another job this late in my career." 

Clark gave him a teasing smile, "We both know every one of Wayne Enterprises' competitors would pay you twice your yearly salary for the assurance you'd quit dad's business." 

Lucius glanced around and locked the door, whether because of the conversation about Clark having put his family friend at odds with his boss or because of the upcoming subject was unknown. "Moving on. Did you find your lead on Superman?"

Clark pressed a few keys on his keypad to call up a 'hidden' window in his computer, "Not much, except Luthor seems to have reason to believe he's an alien." 

Lucius fell silent for a moment, "That's an interesting theory." 

Clark opened up his secret folder dubbed Metahumans and chose the folder dubbed Superman, "That's all the footage I could scrounge on Superman. That's a measly 2 hours of him saving people over the last two years. We see him jump, swim, tear things apart and fly. And flirt. He always flirts with whoever he rescues if they look old enough."

Lucius grimaced, "Thank God you don't do that. Disguising as a giant bat is already ridiculous enough for my liking, thank you very much."

Clark leaned toward his computer, "The thing is... the flirting seems like a distraction."

"What do you mean?"

"From the glimpses we've had, Superman accomplishes his goals in the most efficient way possible. The only thing that's a waste of time is the ridiculous flirting he tacks at the end as if he's trying to make people forget he's this incredibly powerful being."

"Mmm..."

"And then, there's a collection of photos of wreckage made by Superman."

"And?" Lucius remarked.

"I placed the photos in chronological order and there's something... interesting about them," Clark scooted over and offered Lucius his seat, "Can you see it?"

Lucius expertly and swiftly went through them, "It's always about damages on property or nature."

"But didn't you notice it also diminishes over time?" Clark remarked, "The bigger disasters or villains still result in higher damages but there's a marked improvement... Superman is damaging fewer properties."

"Intriguing..." Lucius leaned back.

"It is," Clark smiled, "I've decided he's the first one I want to add to my hero network."

Lucius blinked at him, "What's his secret identity?"

Clark shrugged, "No idea."

Lucius interlocked his hands together, "Why not go one to one of the ones we know where to find? The diplomate princess? The Speedster? The Green Lantern? The archer? Black Canary? Our system tracked them down with the mix of the facial recognition program and the movement tracking one. Superman is the only one neither program could help us with. Wouldn't it better to gather the others to help you find Superman?"

"My intuition tells me I should find Superman first or he won't join our hero network at all."

Lucius stood up, "Are you sure it's not because he might be an alien?"

Clark's enthusiasm dampened, "I'll have you know I'm not obsessed with aliens."

Lucius coughed, "Your twelve-grade project."

Clark threw up his hands, "Why do you and Alfred always bring that incident up? I've grown up since."

Lucius arched an eyebrow, "Does that mean that you stopped using your special telescope to look for alien life each night after patrol?"

Clark's answering grumbling proved Lucius right. 

"Aside from that," Lucius added, "Will you need me to man the comms tonight?"

Clark shook his head, "Tonight's fine, but I'm sure we'll be seeing action soon enough. There's something in the air."

"It's Gotham. When is there not anything in the air?"

Clark amended his statement, "Something new is coming along, then."

Lucius shook his head, "Your intuition is not fact-based."

Clark pouted at that, "It doesn't matter. The monks told me I had a great intuitive gift and that I should follow it more often."

"And your teachers said you had a scientific mind..." Lucius smiled fondly.

Clark flashed a brilliant smile, "Aren't I lucky to have so many talents?"

Lucius rolled his eyes, "I have to go. It's almost the end of the day. I suggest you go sleep before patrol."

Clark waved him goodbye and waited a moment before using his cell phone to call the first name on his speed dial, "Mom?"

"What is it, Sweety? Something wrong at work?" Which is a subtle coding for "Did something that requires Batman's help happen?"

"Oh, no, everyone's so nice." Translating, I didn't get injured at all and there's no emergency.

"Okay. What can I do for you?" As if Clark only called for something other than to speak with his mother. 

"Mom, who says I want something?"

She snorted, "Please Clark, I know the way my boy's mind works by now. Your tone gave you away."

Clark rolled his eyes and asked, "Actually, earlier this week, you mentioned Dr. Thompkins was in town for a few days to supervised her old clinic in the Narrows. I've been meaning to drop by and say hi. It's been too long since the last time I've seen her. Do you know if she's still in town?"

There was a silence before his mother answered, "Clark, what are you involving Leslie into?"

Clark quite innocently pretended he didn't get found out by his too perceptive mother, "Nothing. I'm just trying to see her."

His mother sighed, "She's catching a train back to Metropolis tonight. You better not play dumb with her; she won't take kindly to it."

"Thanks, Mom!"

"Are you coming home soon?" She quietly asked. 

Clark hated having to respond to that query, "I'm sorry, Mom, but I'll keep to my apartment tonight. I've got plans." 

He could practically hear her shake her head on the side of the line, "Clark..."

He gulped, suddenly feeling guilty of having outgrown his parent's creepy but memory filled Manor. 

"Talk to you soon, Mom." 

"Keep safe, Clark." The phone line disconnected. 

Clark sighed; it was more productive to concentrate on finding Superman and rallying him to his hero network than ponder about his family's situation.

He hid his "special" folder in his computer and gathered his tasteless brown coat. 

Walking downtown Gotham had impressed him as a kid with the way it reeked of gothic architectures mingling with a modern setting, both exuding of dangerous beauty akin a dark fairytale's setting. 

Clark liked walking here, especially since it afforded him a look at the town that had moulded him into the man he had become. It was also interesting to compare Gotham at night with Gotham at day; at day, the place's accentuated its beauty, at night, its danger. Clark felt he was both Batman, the city's vigilante, and Clark Wayne, the city's quiet engineer billionaire heir, both doing their best to improve the city. 

However, despite the mafia's turf wars enflaming part of the town, the one place in Gotham that was always known as the most dangerous was the Narrows. Leslie's old clinic, now managed by a tired man named Lid Brunch, was situated at the center of the Narrows, thus serving its prime clientele. Since Leslie had moved to Metropolis, years ago, to open a clinic in the Suicide Slums, Clark hadn't seen much of the intense doctor. However, he had always fondly remembered the old woman with the sharpness that rivalled his mom's and the dedication to the poor and injured that rivalled his dad's.

Clark wandered into the clinic, glancing all the while at the injured or sick patients waiting in the waiting area. The receptionist who recognized him by sight sent him in the west wing to find the doctor. He had no trouble finding her packing her medical kit. 

"Dr. Thompkins?"

She turned around, a frown embedded in the fine lines of her face, "Yes?"

"It's been a while," Clark smiled as he stepped forward.

For a second, a few indentations appeared in her forehead before she recalled who he was, "Clark Wayne... You still have your mother's eyes but you look more and more like your father when he was your age."

Clark must have betrayed himself in some way since she immediately changed the subject, "Come here and give me a hug." He embraced her with sincerity, "It's nice to see you."

"Mmm..." 

She quickly separated them, "Did you just come here to say hi or did you have another purpose in mind?" A Gothamite's ingrained doubts about others' motivation didn't seem to dislodge from their habits even after a prolonged change of habitat, Clark dryly thought. 

"Actually," Clark started, "I was hoping to get a bit of help."

Dr. Thompkins levelled a gaze at him, "What sort of help? Don't tell me you need some drugs."

Clark gave a short chuckle that strangled in his throat at the seriousness of her look. The thought patients would steal the clinic's limited resources to perpetuate their addiction was depressing, "Nothing like that. There's someone I have to see, but they aren't exactly the easiest to meet. My mother told me you might be able to help me find them."

"And who would that be?" she asked, face still blank.

"A certain photographer by the name Bruce Kent." 

Leslie flinched at the name and looked trice as suspicious of his intentions, "Why are you looking for him?"

Clark raised his hand in a bid to calm her, "He posted online a collection of photos on the damages done by Superman. I'd just like to ask him a few questions on the matter."

"Why are you even interested in that, Clark?" Leslie stalled with obvious mistrust stamped on her face. 

Time to use his famous nerdiness to his advantage. 

"Well, there's this conspiracy theory going around that Superman might be an alien and Bruce Kent has been the only person who's actively trying to get photos of the wreckage. I'm just investigating whether he has noticed anything from the scenes that might indicate whether Superman is an alien or not. It's obviously not something I can just ask the government to answer."

Leslie slightly relaxed at the explanation and shook her head in amusement, "It's nice to know you're still the same, Clark. I've heard you've even become an engineer at Wayne Entreprises. Was it because nobody would fund your SETI studies?"

Clark shrugged, "I figured engineering would help me understand how alien technology worked when we do get alien contact."

Leslie couldn't help grinning. Clark always had that effect on her and he knew well enough to push his advantage, "So, will you help me see Bruce Kent?"

Leslie's cheerfulness immediately evaporated as she frowned at him, "Are you only going to ask him about the wreckage pictures he's been taking?"

"Yes," Clark somewhat untruthfully answered. 

Leslie's eyes shifted through him before she finally decided, "I'll help you meet him once but you're on your own to get him to talk."

Clark's lips curled up, "That's perfect, Leslie. That's all I need."

"He's volunteering at the clinic tomorrow from 6:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. Don't make me regret it." 

"You won't," Clark answered. They then said their goodbyes and it was time for Clark to prepare dinner and review the criminal activities that had occurred during the day to prepare for patrol.

Clark looked forward to another round against the surly photographer. This time, he'd be more prepared.


	3. Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce meet again.

Clark was patiently waiting to be served at the Metropolis clinic at exactly 6:22 p.m. The receptionist had glanced at him and had asked a few basic questions before telling him to wait for a nurse's help. 

After several minutes, a nurse showed him to another room and a doctor (thank God it wasn't Leslie) took a quick look at his wound and pronounced it shallow. A volunteer would take care of patching it up in order to lighten the charge of the nurses and doctors for more complicated matters. Clark simply gave a small nod and waited for his volunteer, crossing his fingers it would be Bruce. 

As luck would have it, it was the photographer in person who strolled in wearing a rolled up dark red turtleneck, jeans and plastic gloves. 

And a nasty glare when he discovered Clark Wayne was his "patient." For a moment, they stared at one another, each assessing the other like wrestlers circling one another before a fight although Clark maintained an innocently shocked face. 

"What are you doing here?" Bruce growled out, wariness seeping out of his stance, voice and eyes.

Clark nonchalantly shrugged, "I got stabbed in the arm by some incompetent mugger. I thought it was a good idea to get some stitches." Technically, Clark's explanation wasn't exactly a lie; the only detail he had omitted mentioning was that the incompetent mugger in question was himself. 

Bruce moved a few steps forward and reluctantly took Clark's arm up to verify if there was a stabbing wound. The photographer cleaned the wound in small and careful movements, "That's not an answer for why you, one of Gotham's "elite", stopped in the poor part of Metropolis to get treated."

Clark had already thought his scenario through, "Well, I was actually going to the Daily Planet when I was mugged and this clinic was the closest place for some basic medical assistance." He had even calculated it with Google's help. The Daily Planet was only two streets away from the Suicide Slums, so, even though the clinic mostly treated impecunious individuals, other people often wandered through their doors because of their prime location.

Bruce put some disinfectant on the wound and started stitching the wound, "What were you doing at the Daily Planet?" 

Clark lazily smiled, "I decided to go see Lois Lane. She's such an interesting person, you know?"

Bruce lifted one unimpressed eyebrow, "You had an interview with her?"

"No, I just wanted to see her." Clark had thought long and hard about his thinly veiled pretence for meeting Bruce Kent and had figured it was easier to avoid telling elaborate lies around the man's sharp eyes. The man had found him suspect enough at the gala; telling him he had scheduled an appointment with Lois Lane, with which Bruce Kent had a professional relationship, seemed a terrible idea. 

Bruce continued stitching Clark's arm in silence for a moment before he added, "She hates that."

"What?" Clark was startled at the non-sequitur. He had been busy looking at Bruce's competent hands weaving a needle through his skin with an efficiency Clark internally admired.

"When people barge at her workplace to annoy her with irrelevant stuff," Bruce continued, "That could be construed as harassment or stalking." 

Clark smiled, "That's an awfully cynic outlook on life you have. It's fine to have an interest in other people's lives as long as you don't stalk or harm them." Clark rationalized his behaviour by deeming that Batman was a vigilante therefore stalking was part of his job description.

The man scowled at him as he finished his stitching, "All done." Bruce stood up and would have probably disappeared without a goodbye if Clark hadn't been as quick to catch his arm, "Wait. This happy coincidence means we get another chance at getting acquainted." 

Bruce's glare plainly told his thoughts on the matter. Before he had the chance to verbalize them, Clark continued, "It's just too bad you're so busy here. I'd hate to interrupt you when you're doing some good."

"What do you want?" Bruce finally asked as he pulled his arm out of Clark's grip. 

"Oh," Clark simply lifted his hands to prove his harmlessness, "Investigating special phenomenon has always been a personal hobby of mine. I was just interested in Superman's wreckage's scenes and you seemed the most competent person to answer some of my questions."

Bruce frowned, "I take pictures. I don't explain them."

"Don't worry, it's fine if you're not interested in answering my questions. It seems destiny enjoys throwing us together. I'm sure we'll meet each other soon enough."

The billionaire heir had never seen someone clench their jaws as much as Bruce did at that moment. There was a slight pause before the photography addressed him, "Are you going to leave me alone if I tell you about the damages?" 

The engineer used his best-wounded expression, "I'm just trying to befriend you. Why are you so hostile?"

Bruce's answering glower had to have been practiced to perfection because Clark knew a normal person wouldn't be able to show that much annoyance in one expression. Clark sighed, "But if you are going to doubt my good intentions, I suppose we could get those questions answered."

The other man crossed his arms. It seemed he wouldn't talk until Clark promised to leave him alone afterwards. 

What a pity... 

Batman needed information on Superman more urgently than Clark needed to interest himself in this strange man's life. It was hard not to feel upset at the choice, especially since Bruce Kent's company was strangely pleasant. Clark couldn't remember the last person he'd get this much joy teasing. 

"Fine," Clark finally promised in all seriousness, "If you answer my questions about the sites of wreckage, I'll leave you alone." 

Bruce opened his mouth when someone interrupted by knocking on the door. 

"Yes?" Clark called out. 

"Bruce? You in there?" a female voice answered. 

"Yes."

The door opened and Clark could see a small teenager with puffy blond dyed hair paired with some reddish eyeglasses. The girl exuded vivacity, "Bruce, what are you doing here? I've been waiting for you. You promised you'd stay with me today."

Clark cocked his head, trying to puzzle out their relationship. Bruce and the girl had no common feature, so, not family, then. He turned and saw Bruce's disapproving gaze resting on him, warning him against inquisitiveness. 

"I'm coming in a second. Would you mind waiting outside a minute?" 

She pouted but left them alone. 

"We talk after my shift," Bruce stonily declared, "And we never speak again after that meeting, not even if I have to take pictures of you for some newspaper."

Clark nodded and innocently inquired, "When does your shift end?"

Bruce stalked out with one last furious glance.

Clark shook his head and walked to the reception to sign a contribution for the clinic in exchange for the time and resources he'd used. That helped him feel better for the ambush he just sprung on the photographer. 

Now, he just needed to organize his information for the meeting. First of all, he would need to have specific questions to ask the photographer about the sites Superman had left behind. It wouldn't do to blunder this opportunity away. Even though he had prepared some samples of questions, he knew he needed to rework them to suit a slippery man like Bruce Kent. 

Then, Clark's thoughts veered into the tangent of Bruce Kent, as if this was a more interesting subject than a flirty superhero that had yet to be defeated. There was surprisingly little about the man in the registries and online. The only documents he could find about the man with his legally adhering hacking skills were limited to his career as a self-taught photographer. He couldn't even find the year of birth or nationality of the photographer, which was surprising. Insomuch as the online world was concerned, Bruce Kent had not existed until a year and a half ago. So, Clark followed the man's photography career with unrelenting attention. The pictures told the story of the man's travelling through the cold and hot deserts as well as through the galas, bidonvilles and lush gardens. 

Comments about the man's photography's skills were always interesting to read through. "Surprising angles" and "forces you to view the object in a completely different way" were recurrent comments on his photos. Some even compared him to the American photography pioneer Ansel Adams with his landscape pictures, especially since Bruce Kent sometimes took his pictures in black and white. 

It had taken Bruce Kent a disturbingly short period of time to be seen as one of the talented newcomers to the scene. It was also at the beginning of his career as a photographer that Bruce Kent had started taking pictures of the damages inflicted by Superman's intervention. 

Clark's mother had only divulged that Bruce Kent's information, like many others in the foster care system, was under a publication ban for the matter that had landed him in it. Clark undertook some careful 'illegal' searches of the man in the foster care system and it soon became clear that Bruce Kent was, unlike the majority of the wards of the State, a complete orphan. From the paucity of information available in his foster care file, it became clear Bruce had been adopted when he was just a baby by two farmers from Smallville, a town in Kansas. 

Clark lifted an eyebrow at the reveal. He should have recognized the Kansas accent when Bruce had addressed Clark's mother as Ma'am. 

However, as he continued reading Bruce's file, it was clear both parents had somehow died when he was eight years old. No details about their death were indicated in the file and it was clear Bruce Kent had no other living relatives. The rest of the information was related to evaluations of Bruce's unstable behaviour. He had been put on various waitlists of therapists and behaviour specialists without ever getting adopted. No juvenile records were associated with Bruce, but it seems to have been a near thing according to the notes in his file. Leslie Thompkins's name was mentioned once as his doctor. 

Clark copied the file and put it in his 'interest' folder. He then searched for results of Martha and Jonathan Kent online. Obituaries were the first result to pop out, yet, it neglected any mentions of the specifics surrounding their deaths. The wording adhered to what Clark would consider mid-western sensitivities; modest praises of their accomplishments as neighbours, parents and members of the community while quietly ending with the standard "He (and She) is survived by his (her) son, Bruce." 

The screen felt far away as Clark swallowed a gulp of his cream and sugar coffee. He knew he had pried more than enough into a stranger's life without any reasonable basis for alarm. No matter, the uneasiness in his chest didn't stop him from hacking into the coroner's report. 

Eyes poured over the neatly organized information. 

Next-of-kin: Bruce Joseph Kent.  
Coroner report addressed to Smallville Police Services.  
Other organizations to whom it is addressed: Metropolis Social Services.  
Hour of the declaration of death: 1:37 a.m. for both.  
Bodies were dead for at least three hours.  
Female and male were found facedown in the family's kitchen.  
The male had two bullets wounds: one in his head and one in his torso. The female had three: one in the head and two in the torso. Bullet holes were found in the wall.  
The only witness present at the time of the bodies'discovery is their eight years old son. He refused to say anything. Other than the son's fingerprints, there has been no indication they were touched directly by anyone else.  
No money or valuables seemed to be missing.  
Identifiable tattoo on the female found on her left shoulder.  
Recognizable scars on the male's knee were found.  
Cause of death: gun-inflicted wounds.  
Manner: Undeterminated. 

Undeterminated? Clark recoiled. It should be clearly be written homicide... 

"What are you doing?" a familiar voice growled and startled Clark out of his research. He mentally lectured himself of having been so engrossed with his research he had forgotten his true objective for his trip to Metropolis. As he closed the tabs, Clark found enough composure to beam at the man, "Bruce! You've finished your shift?"

"Let's get this over with," the brunette responded impatiently as he sat in front of Clark on the defunct picnic table. 

Clark pushed back his personal questions to the back of his head and regained composure, "How long after the incidents do you normally photograph the wreckage?"

Bruce frowned in concentration, "When I don't work at the time of the incidents, I try, in the measure of the possible, to take the pictures within an hour of the incident." 

Clark glanced at his notes and pushed back his glasses, "Sometimes, the sites are elsewhere in the country or the world."

Bruce crossed his arms and leaned back, "That's not a question."

Clark grinned, "I'm sorry. What was the latest you arrived after the incidents had taken place?" 

"A day. However, in most cases, I don't bother taking pictures if human behaviour has modified the site."

Clark lifted his head, "So, you have an ethical standard." 

The other didn't seem to accept the compliment at face's value, "Are you mocking me?"

Clark ruefully shook his head, "I was complimenting you. I'm from Gotham, remember? Where the police officers are mostly paid by the mafia?" 

Bruce's eyes narrowed at him. Clark tried not to feel affected by the constant stream of attention, "Have you ever seen Superman in person?" 

Bruce shrugged, "From far away, sure."

"Ever talked to him?"

"No." 

"Is there anything distinctive with the wreckage he leaves?"

"He bends and crushes things."

"With his bare hands?" 

"I don't know." The tone made it clear he also didn't care for that.

"What kind of things?"

"Concrete, metal, pipes..."

Clark remembered his own experiments on the strength necessary to do Superman's exploits. Bending carbon steel required a lot of force. From the videos and the wreckage sites, Superman had done it without any obvious straining. 

"Did you take anything he destroyed as a souvenir?"

"No," Bruce's face scrunched in disdain. 

True to form, Bruce hadn't really told anything useful about Superman that Batman didn't have access anywhere else. It was hard for Clark to concentrate fully on his Superman's frustrating search while he had someone much more interesting in front of him. 

Nonetheless, Clark went through a series of questions about the sites of wreckage until he had gone over all of his points. Finally, he just fixed Bruce in the eyes and asked, "Why are you taking pictures of Superman's wreckages?" 

"That has no bearing on your research on the wreckage sites."

Clark wanted to roll his eyes, "It does. Since I partly rely on your online pictures to draw conclusions about Superman, I want to make sure your bias on the matter is not reflected in the way you illustrate the scenes."

There was a hard glint in Bruce's eyes, "Let me guess, that's what your fancy school taught you about methodology. I don't have time for this." He stood and Clark's eyes, so used to the darkness of Gotham, found the glaring lights in the poor section of Metropolis disturbing. 

"I've kept my end of the bargain. Now, get out of here."

Clark stood up to follow him when he heard the man ask, "Where did you park your car?" 

Clark gestured to the creepily empty parking space of the clinic. His blue car model was common enough from the exterior; it was only if you check the interior that you would notice its horsepower was stronger than it should. Bruce accompanied Clark to his car in a gesture Clark was sure was uncharacteristic from the other person. 

The night shrouded the open Metropolis sky in a way it almost felt like a talisman, so far from the night in Gotham. Bruce, instead of abandoning him, got a cigarette pack and a lighter out of his jeans' pocket. He deliberately took a cigarette out and lighted it without so much as a glance in Clark's direction. He inhaled the smoke and exhaled it while looking at the stars above. 

Clark couldn't help but notice the soft radiant glow of the moonlight reflected in the man's eyes nor the way the lips relaxed when he breathed out. Clark found it unfortunate the man's appeal was more like an ice sculpture than a living, breathing human: as bewitching as the man appeared to be, he looked forlorn in the decrepit parking of a stubborn clinic in the Suicide Slums. 

Instead of delving into his concern, Clark simply commented, "That's not good for you."

Bruce's eyes found him and amusement seemed to flash entirely too fast in his eyes before they returned to seriousness, "What you are doing is worse for you."

"What?" a confused Clark asked. 

Impatience shone in the man's face as he shook his cigarette in Clark's direction, "This." 

"Why?" 

Bruce took another drag of his cigarette. As the moment lingered on, it became clear Bruce had no intention of answering him.

"Looking to get information on Superman?"

Bruce nodded distractedly, "He's Hiroshima."

"What?" 

Bruce sighed, "You don't know your history?"

"The atomic bomb. Yes, of course, I know. I just don't get why you called him Hiroshima. It's not as if he kills people."

Bruce watched him, "It doesn't matter what he does or wants. Except for the display of power. It changes the rules of the game. It attracts fear, greed and curiosity from a lot of unsavoury quarters." 

"And?" Because Clark needed more information. 

Bruce inhaled his cigarette before answering, "You're getting involved in a race you don't seem to understand."

Curiosity took him over, "What race?"

Bruce exhaled his smoke as he turned his face to examine Clark's car, "I said Hiroshima." 

He meant the race for nuclearization, Clark realized. After Hiroshima, in which the United States showed their might and their decisiveness in causing that many deaths, it had sparked the world's strongest countries' race to the nuclear bomb. They had to have its power to be relevant on the international level. Violence beget violence. 

In a way, that logic suited Superman's display of power. Contrary to Wonder Woman and Green Lantern, Superman did not seem to be part of an organization who could control him in any way. Besides, contrary to Flash, Batman and Green Arrow, Superman's interferences could be traced around the world. He was raw, unrestrained power that could be viewed as an inestimable asset or a threat to the world's current powerholders. 

"Does that mean you hate Superman because of the consequences of his interferences?" Clark asked. 

Bruce let out an ugly sound, "I don't care one bit about who or what he is. He can continue to play the hero for all I care. I just want him to f***ing clean up his messes."

Clark had a brief flash of understanding, "Is that what you tell everyone that contact you for information on Superman?" 

Bruce's lips curled almost imperceptibly up. It was answer enough for Clark. "Why are you helping me? I doubt you tell all this information to everyone that contact you."

Bruce dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his heel, "Your mother doesn't deserve to lose her son to his careless curiosity."

Clark had almost forgotten his mother had known Bruce in some capacity or another. 

"Besides," Bruce cautiously added, "you don't make any sense." 

The billionaire heir cocked his head. 

"It's not fear or greed that drives you. It's not even plain curiosity. I can't see what you get out of this search."

Clark shrugged, "I did tell you why I'm interested. Maybe you just need to listen to me." A strangely thoughtful look appeared on Bruce's face as though Clark had not spoken a platitude. 

"Maybe." 

Clark glanced around the empty parking lot, "Do you want a ride? I could bring you home. It's the least I could do for all the help you provided."

Bruce shook his head, "Stay away. That's all I'm asking."

The wind chose that moment to pick up, sending both men's hair into their faces. Clark brushed it back in place, "Are you sure you don't want a ride? It's no problem for me."

Bruce chuckled, "I've seen the car." Without further ado, he just walked away under Clark's gaze. The engineer couldn't help asking himself what the photographer had meant by that last comment. 

Unfortunately, time wouldn't wait for him; Gordon had requested his presence later that same night. Apparently, some gang members were setting down an arms exchange in the middle of Gotham's Bay and Gordon didn't have the personnel to catch them or to spy on them without alerting them of his intention. "It's getting better," he had told Batman, "but it'll take a while before I can finish assembling a trustworthy team." 

Clark seated himself and drove home. Gotham was calling.


	4. Gotham's Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman at work.

Gotham's Bay  
00:23

The boat swayed a bit to the starboard, but nothing worrying. Batman glanced at his target and observed the lack of a second boat. The arms exchange was supposed to take place at exactly 00:00. But, then again, it was clear the gangsters in Gotham weren't one for promptness when it came to these things. More often than not, coming in late was a sign of power over the other party.

Batman peered back at his boat, making sure it was adequately masked in the darkness. This boat was one of the highs of his engineering career; its construct reflected the fundamental truths of aerodynamics and the needed punch a Gotham vigilante might need in his vehicles. Although Clark normally preferred white boats, marine blue was much more practical for Batman's purposes. Besides, he hadn't sailed a boat for pleasure in months, which was too bad in his opinion. 

When he was younger, during his rough period, his father had tried to cheer him up with a hobby other than observing the stars (which tended to make him sleepy during the day). It had taken him a few tries, much notably one which included horses almost trampling him to death, until Clark had genuinely enjoyed one of his father's attempt. 

From the vast expanse of blue surrounding him, Clark's love of the sky was almost doubled. The mechanics of sailing had slowly been drilled in his head and Clark's hands had calloused during his high school in good part because he'd sailed during his spare time. It afforded him freedom the stiffening world of Gotham high society couldn't provide him. It had been natural after he had finished his studies in engineering that he would take his beloved boat on a trip, with only one farewell letter addressed to his parents left behind, to find his true purpose in life. 

"We had pirates among our ancestors," Clark's father had once told him. 

Pirates. How cool was that? And Clark had thought it cool until he had encountered real pirates at sea. 

Again, and despite Alfred's martial arts' teachings, he'd been completely defenceless to someone's attacks. Clark had been dependant on pirates' mercy. 

It was a miracle he had survived that encounter. Which was what they had always used to tell him about the elementary school "incident." 

Batman was born to protect the helpless and defenceless. 

Tonight, he'd get a read on how arms were being imported in town. There was enough ammunition in Gotham for innocents to get caught in the gang war. The last thing Jim's and Batman's city cleanup needed was more weapons. 

Some activity on the other boat attracted Batman's eyes to it. He used his binoculars to see it in detail. The people on the boat were moving around and they seemed more nervous than earlier that night. 

His guts told him something was wrong. 

The second boat finally arrived beside the first one. Batman could see a seemingly important man wade across the new boat's deck. His nose was pointed and his belly was round. The shining manacle in the darkness and his hat made it entirely too easy to make him recognizable. 

The Penguin. It was never a good sign when he got involved in the gangsters' wars. From his Iceberg Lounge, he would sell the goods to the highest bidder or to the parties who would help him improve his grip on the city. 

Finding proof of his wrongdoing wasn't enough to keep him in prison. It was clear that he had the most men in the police and the justice system, making him the hardest man to keep in jail. 

Batman zoomed in on Cobblepot and observed the dark figure discuss with someone from the first boat. It only took a few moments until what seemed to be the leader of the first boat gestured angrily in Cobblepot's direction. Unfortunately for Clark, the angle he was placed was all wrong to read the lips. Next thing he knew, Cobblepot's team had open fire on the first boat's crew. Penguin's interlocutor gestured his fist in the man's direction and seemed to be threatening him. The man fell over. Probably dead. Penguin used his cane to push him aside and said something. His crew went around and shot a few times each body lying on the ground. Penguin gestured at them impatiently while he lights up his cigar. The glow on his face gave him a diabolical air. 

A few minutes later, his crew was back on the desk with heavy crates. Penguin gestured one down with the hand holding his cigar. His men cracked open the crate and Penguin leaned slightly forward. He smiled in a nasty way and barked orders. His crew carried the crates on their boats. He walked back on. The boat hummed to life and left. 

Batman turned his binoculars back on the first boat, attempting to see proof of life. He could see no movement aboard it. His hands gripped his binoculars. Even though Clark knew there was nothing he could have done to save the men from the distance he was, he still felt he had failed them.

Logically, Batman knew Penguin must have done something to have the ship sink to the bottom of Gotham's Bay, however, he also knew the businessman hated to waste explosives when there was a simpler and cost-effective way to sink a ship. In all probabilities, one of Penguin's man had opened a hole in the boat and it was slowly filling up with water. The men hadn't been below a long time. It was likely they hadn't search for anything other than their obvious target. Maybe it was worth going aboard the ship to look for the provenance of the shipment. 

Batman throttled on and it took a few minutes for his boat to accost the other. He made sure to stay away from the first boat. He used his grapple on the ship's mast to embark on the ship. Slowly, he took in his surroundings. Blood was staining the ship's deck and none of the previously alive men even shivered in the cold night air. Batman didn't have to check any of their pulses. He went below deck, one Batarang firmly held in his hand. He found the simple sailors' lodgings and noted they had meagre belongings. He went on his journey to the pantry. Again, there was almost no food. Taking into account the ship's small size and the poor selection of food, it was likely this ship hadn't sailed from a port far from Gotham. 

Batman walked into the "merchandise" holding room on the ship and quickly noted it was empty. There was no hole on the hull. Finally, he found the captain's room. If the regional maps on the desk were anything to go on, this ship had come from another city on the coastline and probably from somewhere in the States or Canada. 

Clark took a few miscellaneous papers from the room for further investigation. He pushed on the door but felt it unwilling to open. Instantly, he was alert to any form of danger. 

He heard a beep beep sound from behind him and he knew it was a trap. 

Without any windows, his only chance out was by the unyielding door or the walls. He backed away from the door and he threw his explosives while he covered himself in his marine blue cape, hoping Lucius's reinforcement in the armour had been more than optimal. The door blew up and he ran past it to the desk.

Beep. Beep. His mind kept urging him to run faster. 

Suddenly, he felt himself travelling in the air, his eardrums overwhelmed by noise, his mind clouded by his confusing surrounding. He hit the water and something hit him. Up and down no longer existed. He couldn't breathe. He needed to go up. Where was up? Disoriented, his eyes scanned the water. It was useless. The night in Gotham was as dark and murky as the water in its Bay. 

He pushed himself in the direction he instinctively thought was up. His motions were slowed by his armour and his cape, even though he had chosen something more or less waterproof. His lungs burned in his chest. He hadn't even had the chance to gulp air before his fall. His utility belt had been hit hard by something and he couldn't even take out his emergency oxygen mask.

He couldn't die here. Gotham needed him to change it for the better and his parents were too young to bury their son. His arms pulled him up and he felt the air in the lungs. He breathed in hard, shaking in the dark, as something hit his head. 

He could only sink in the water like an unattached anchor, consciousness leaving him at the mercy of Gotham's unforgiving Bay.

***

The first thing he noticed was the fact he was coughing a bit. Coughing means he's alive, Clark's mind quickly surmised. Then, he could feel pain all over his body and someone talking to him. Soft pliant lips found his mouth, not for a kiss, but to forcefully push air into his lungs. When the lips removed themselves from him, Clark coughed some more water and he could hear the same voice he'd heard earlier speaking. 

After a few moments, his senses could somewhat adjust. Pain. Bright pain. Salty air. A whiff of a cigarette's smell. The hard ground under him. Darkness. Sounds. Words. 

"Finally finished your beauty sleep?" a low voice asked him. A man.

Batman opened his eyes to see Superman kneeling over him in all of his silly red, blue and white costume glory. Clark coughed a few more times to give himself time to think. He suddenly decided he didn't want to be lying on the ground for his first meeting with Superman. He tried to sit up but a burning sensation in his chest made him stop. Strong white-gloved hands also stopped him from going up, "I accidentally broke your ribs. Hope you don't mind."

Hope you don't mind??? 

Batman was aghast by the superhero's conversation skills. It was true that trying to remove a wet Batsuit to give CPR wasn't easy to do without hurting the person in it. It was even logical to accidentally break a few ribs if you had to destroy the armour to give CPR. Still, why would Superman say something like "hope you don't mind?"

Superman's face was covered in an all-white mask. Clark couldn't even see his mouth. He must have removed it earlier to give Batman CPR. 

Strangely enough, even though Superman's face was covered, it was easy to guess he had an idiotic expression underneath it.

"You have really nice sparkly eyes. Even jewels don't shine as brightly as that at this time of the night," Superman complimented in a smooth tone that contrasted with how miserable Clark was feeling at the moment: wet, hurt, embarrassed and cold. Besides, the cowl was still on, so, except if Superman had x-ray vision, there was no way he could even see Batman's eyes. 

Suddenly, Batman understood why people saved by Superman felt annoyed at his weird flirting habits. Had the guy even heard of timing? 

However, Batman had wanted to meet Superman to evaluate how good of a superhero he was, not whether his people's skills needed an upgrade. 

"How did you find me?" Clark hoarsely asked the question on his mind. 

"With such shiny eyes, it'd be hard to miss," Superman casually answered in a flirty tone while one hand gestured dramatically in Batman's direction. Clark wanted to strangle the guy even after he had been saved by him. 

Instead, he breathed in the salty air and put one hand to his head to stave off his incoming headache. 

"Where are we?" he asked. 

Superman shrugged in an uncaring manner, "Who knows? When love strikes, it strikes anywhere."

Batman glared at the superhero. 

Superman stood up and offered him a hand, "But I can take you wherever you want, pretty bird." Batman took it and slowly and painfully rose to his feet, biting down his retort. Bird. He was a bat. It was wildly different from a bird. Even small kids knew that.

This was the perfect occasion to get to know whoever this person was. "Then," Batman responded, "could you please take me to the clocktower in Gotham?"

At Superman's confused expression from under the white mask that hid even his eyes, Batman added, "Downtown Gotham, near the museum. I can show you where."

In a flash, Batman was securely in Superman's arms and they were flying toward the downtown area. Batman forced his heart not to panic. Then, he looked below. Travelling with a grapple was fun, but, flying was much cooler. He could see things with more clarity from a bit further up than when he was on roofs. He smiled. 

"Like that?" a voice whispered in his ear. Batman shivered. Maybe it was because of the cold air and wet clothing. 

Clark turned back at the other man, "Flying is awesome."

Superman's covered face didn't change in the least, but Batman could feel something relax in the man, "Who needs wings when they can be graced with your gorgeous smile?" 

Before Clark could answer, Superman had gently set him down on top of the clocktower. He was already turning around to fly away when Clark called out, "Wait! Thanks for helping me tonight, Superman. I don't know if you know about me. I'm Batman and I'm looking for allies. Would you be interested?"

Superman's white mask stretched at the level of his mouth, "I'd rather not see you broken or dead, lovely bird. Maybe you should choose something less dangerous to do with your life." And he was gone.

Batman was a man who had once decided not to let pride blind him. Nonetheless, the superhero's words woke a fire in his chest. This was downright demeaning.

Batman was not some fragile bird; he was a superhero who was improving Gotham, a feat not many could pretend to achieve. 

Batman clenched his fists and called for a car. He had work to do.


	5. The "Idiots"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is unnerved by Batman. Batman keeps looking for allies.

Bruce frowned at the holographic being in front of him, "Scan for Clark Thomas Wayne's activities, concentrate on the past eight years."

The blue-eyed Kryptonian image responded, "I'm scanning. Why are you looking for him, son?" 

Bruce glared, "Don't call me son." 

The hologram sighed, "Kal, I already explained that..."

"You're a nagging hologram from a presumably advanced alien civilization that caused their own self-destruction. Despite all of that, you can't even get my name right."

The hologram's space between his eyebrows creased as he gently reminded, "Although you may call yourself Bruce on Earth, your Kryptonian name is Kal El. We named you after my..."

"I don't want to hear any more of your programmed nostalgic bullshit," Bruce rudely interrupted, "Give me the information I want and leave me alone." 

"I can't obey that order, Kal," the hologram answered. 

Bruce crossed his arms, "Is the scan over?"

"It is. I'm bringing up the information on the screen."

Bruce frowned at the new screen for a few seconds, scanning it faster than the human eye could, "Is that it?"

"That is the only thing I could find on the subject. Have you made a friend?" the A.I. continued in a fatherly and hopeful voice. 

Bruce waved the idea aside and gritted his teeth, "He seems to be investigating me as Bruce Kent. I thought my disguise was unrecognizable." 

"For what it is worth, it is," the A.I.'s hologram answered, "However, I still think it is a shame you think you have to hide your Kryptonian quality. There's nothing to be ashamed of; Krypton was known as a beacon of technology advancement and cultural refinement."

Bruce gave him a nasty look, "I'm not asking for a flawed A.I.'s opinion, only for the facts I've asked you to gather." 

"If you tell me what you are looking for, it would be much easier to find it," The humanoid hologram answered. 

Bruce moved his finger to go roll down the holographic screen, "He's Batman. And, as Clark Wayne, he had asked me, as Bruce Kent, to listen to him. The same night, he almost drowned. I want to know if he knows I can listen to people's heartbeat and whether he knew I was listening to him. I want to know if he knows I'm Superman and he's trying to use it to his advantage. It's possible this is part of an elaborate plan to trap me."

"Isn't it more probable it is a coincidence?" the Kryptonian A.I. asked, slightly baffled by the reasoning of his master.

"I don't believe in coincidences," Bruce answered as he frowned while reading Clark's thesis on engineering, "Besides, Clark Wayne is a dangerous man to underestimate. He's smarter and more resourceful than he pretends to be. He's also the only one searching for Superman who got genuinely interested in Bruce Kent."

"Maybe the reason he got interested in you was solely personal," the hologram suggested. As an advanced A.I., he had extremely complicated equations that helped him improve, however, he still had difficulty providing the guidance and teaching he had been tasked with. Even Kal El's acculturation to the Earth culture couldn't explain his reluctance to learn from the ultra sophisticated A.I.

Bruce snorted, "Bruce Kent is supposed to repulse others." 

Again, the A.I.'s careful programming hadn't been adjusted to understand why this Earth-raised Kryptonian talked about himself in the third person. Maybe Kal was right and there was a major flaw in his programming.

"Have your scans found anything yet?"

"Nothing that indicates this Clark Wayne person knows you are Superman."

Bruce sighed and carded back his hair in frustration, "Send me all the data. I want to review everything."

The hologram wisely nodded, "No problem, Kal. Would you just keep in mind that not everyone is out to get you?" 

Bruce snorted as he focused on Clark Wayne's detailed information.

***

For the first time in forever, Hal had had a nice week.

He had been able to help the Green Lantern Corps and he had arrived on time each day to his normal job. Carol was pleased with him and so was the Green Lantern Corps. Wow. Hal hadn't even thought both were possible at the same time.

And, even better, he had slept in on Saturday. 

When he had finally gotten out of bed, he had noticed it was 1:34 p.m. He had slowly made coffee while the radio was randomly turned on. He cooked eggs and bacon, something he rarely did nowadays especially since he usually forgot to make the grocery during a week's mayhem, while humming "I'm bringing sexy back."

As he sat at his kitchen's table, Hal grinned at his food and drink, thinking nothing on Earth beats a lazy morning and a great breakfast. He turned on the tv without turning off the radio. The cacophony of human voice helped him relax as he ate like a king. 

Hal took his plate and fork and placed it in the sink. He refilled his coffee and walked back to his kitchen table feeling sated and rested. 

That was when he noticed a shade morphed into a humanoid form (or something) and raised their hand with a cheery, "Hey." Hal, always alert, stepped back... and spilled his coffee on himself. He might have cursed as he hastily removed his "I'm with stupid" t-shirt and ran back to the sink. He rinsed his chest while muttering something. 

"Are you okay?" The bluish creature in his kitchen asked him in a worried tone. 

Hal spun around and pointed accusingly, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY KITCHEN ON A SATURDAY MORNING?"

The cowled man diligently answered, "I thought it was about time for us to meet."

Hal snarled, "EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING, YOU OVERGROWN RAT!"

The man looked chagrined as he answered, "I didn't think you'd appreciate having Batman publicly ringing at your doorbell. I'm sorry. I was trying to be thoughtful and it backfired on me."

Hal glared at Batman.

Batman glanced at his chest, "Are you sure you don't want to put something on?" Hal puffed his chest out as an intimidation technique. 

Batman simply looked at him, slightly perplexed by his attitude and mildly embarrassed by his interlocutor's state of undress. 

Hal bellowed, "Do I need to get my mousetraps out? Because I knew a few ways to get rid of annoying critters." 

Batman's lower face turned serious, "I need help, Mr. Jordan, finding an organization based in Coast City that is selling arms into Gotham. We're at a tipping point in Gotham where the mafia war can turn into a real bloodbath with a small spark."

"Do I look like a Fucking Tooth Fairy?" Hal sarcastically replied. What the hell was Batman doing in his kitchen and requesting help on his first free Saturday morning in three months?

Batman's face was deadly serious when he answered, "You're Green Lantern and the protector of Coast City. I thought you'd be interested in getting rid of arms dealers in your city."

Hal opened his mouth, half in shock, half in anger, "If I were a green little man, I'd use my magic powers on your ass for bursting in my home on a Saturday."Magic powers? Real smooth, Hal thought to himself, pretend you had no idea what Green Lanterns do.

Batman shook his head, "I'm not guessing you are the Green Lantern: I know you are."

Hal crossed his arms on his chest and finally bit the bullet, "How?"

"I made a face and voice recognition system and mixed its data with something to track your flight pattern. After a month or so, the answer to your secret identity was obvious."

Hal wasn't sure how to act. On one hand, reporters reported Batman as another hero so his secret was probably safe. On the other hand, Batman had ruined his Saturday. 

Finally, he sighed, "Okay... You got me. Now, I hope you have a way to track down this arms dealer because I have some anger to burn and if there's no criminal, you're taking the brunt of it."

Batman slightly tilted his head, intrigued, "We can start with the sea access. Whoever is dealing in arms has access to at least one ship. Moreover, based on the maps the dealers had on their ships, they should be on the eastern side of the shore."

"Your idea, if I understand correctly, is to trespass on all properties by the sea until we hit the jackpot? I'm in."

Batman opened his mouth as if to rectify the assessment when Hal walked into his bedroom. He shrugged on the first t-shirt he found and pulled jeans over his boxers. Of course, his awesome shades were not forgotten. 

"What are you waiting for?" Hal grinned at the curious looking Batman, "We've got to mete out the pain of a ruined Saturday unto the Baddies. Maybe that's going to make them think twice before messing up other people's weekends."

He activated his ring with a sadistic smile. 

***

Bruce ground his teeth. Batman's heartbeat was now in Coast City. Was he seriously trying to recruit a team of superhero? 

It would certainly explain why he sought out Superman and Green Lantern first. Maybe it was Batman's reasoning that convincing idiots would be enough to lay the foundation of an ultra-powerful superhero team. And they would claim there is strength in numbers.

That would be absurd. If the individual strength of each of the so-called superheroes had agitated the world's powerholders, what would happen to them if they all teamed up together? 

Bruce glared at the A.I.'s map of Earth. 

The equilibrium was being ruptured. Maybe Superman should stop making appearances around the world to avoid being mired in the inevitable powerplays that were sure to unfold.

"Major earthquake reported in the..." the Fortress's mechanical voice announced as it was programmed to do. 

Bruce spun into his suit and flew away. 

***

Hal felt satisfied. It was a nice day for outside activities. A salty breeze and the burned smell of weapons gave him goosebumps. Yeah, maybe his day hadn't been completely wasted, after all. The Baddies had a worst day than him; that had to count for something. 

"Green Lantern," Batman's deep voice startled him out of his 'cool guy in the wind' pose. 

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for your help," Batman answered with a broad smile and a proffered hand. Hal shook it. Despite their bad start, the guy was cool enough in the pilot's books. He even found the warehouse before Hal had gotten bored out of his mind. 

"Yeah, well, us heroes have to stick together to get rid of the vermin. No offence, man," Hal added when he remembered bats were technically vermins. 

Batman's smile didn't waver as he answered, "None taken. I was thinking of making a network of superhero to help us cope with problems around the world. Would you be interested to join?"

Hal looked at the endless sea, "Nah, I'm not really suited for that. I'm actually off-world more often than on Earth."

Batman nodded, "I see. Any help you could provide would be appreciated. Would you mind me asking whether you met any other hero?"

Hal raised one eyebrow, "Yeah, I know Flash."

"Could you arrange a meeting? I would like to avoid startling him as I did with you," Batman continued. 

Hal shrugged, "Why not? He's a good guy. I'm sure you'd get along fine with him."

"I appreciate it." 

"And you?" Hal asked, "Did you meet any other 'superhero'?"

Batman seemed to be destabilized for a half a second before he answered in a frank tone, "I met Superman."

"Oooh," Hal was interested in the subject of gossiping about the world famous weirdo, "Is he really that much of a douchbag in real life?"

Batman melted in the shadows, his face unreadable, as he whispered, "Hard to tell." 

How did he even do that? Hal had no idea whatsoever. Maybe being creepy was his superpower.


	6. Entrustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman and Jim talk about the new villain in town.
> 
> Bruce and Leslie discuss technology and an agreement leads to a disagreement.

Gotham, after midnight

 

Jim chewed his cigarette end. He hated waiting for Batman, especially with the target he'd light up in the sky. 

"Hi, Jim. Nice evening for a smoke," Batman's voice almost startled him out of his skin. 

Jim removed the cigarette from his mouth. "You can just walk in like a normal person, you know. One of these days, you'll give me a heart attack."

Batman grinned. "If you were liable to get heart attacks from things that simple, you would never have become a detective in Gotham." Fair point, Jim thought as he looked at the shadowy creature detaching itself from the wall. Batman curiously glanced around. "I suppose something important came up?"

Jim sighed. "There's a new player in town."

Batman slightly tilted his head as if to say there was always new players in Gotham. Jim shook his head. "Not a gangster. One of those costumed- theme weirdo." It only occurred belatedly to Jim that it also described accurately his ally. Batman looked more bemused than anything by Jim's insult. Jim shrugged. It didn't really matter anyway; costumed or not, they both had an important cleanup job to do in town. He couldn't even remember the last time he had slept a full eight hours since the gangs declared war on one another.

"Harvey Dent was almost killed when he was prosecuting some gangsters in court today. Someone had him shot with a question mark in court. He told me his lucky penny saved his life. The shooter was simply hired for the hit and knew nothing important." Jim paused a moment, looking at Gotham's depressing (and permanent) grey sky. "You told me someone tried to get you killed in the arms dealer boat and it didn't fit Penguin's M.O. Harvey's assassination also doesn't fit anyone we know of. Why did they even use a question mark?"

Batman looked pensive as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I believe someone planted a pawn on Penguin's team to activate a trap on the boat. They even purposely left maps with hints to find the arms dealer in Coast City. It was almost as if they were trying to test me. As for the question mark, Harvey is known for his great counter-interrogation tactics... Jim, you should be extra careful. If the same person targetted Harvey and me, it is highly likely you'll be next."

Jim looked at the filthy city below himself. "I don't think they need to kill me, Batman, to incapacitate me. Without you and Harvey, there is very little I can do to capture the higher end criminals and get justice. There have always been a few good cops in Gotham. That's never stopped the gangs before..." Jim dragged his cigarette in his mouth, still not lighting it. "Whoever they are, I bet they are trying to extinguish the hope both you and Harvey have instilled in the citizens of Gotham."

Batman looked saddened. "People are scared of walking outside, Jim. That's not what hope looks like."

Jim leaned back, pushing his hands in his pockets, cigarette still hanging in his mouth. "Yesterday, I saw some kids play cops and robbers in an alley, but instead of cops, they all wanted to be Batman. The word on the street is that Batman has their back." 

Batman gave him a grateful smile. "I'll see what I can get on the new player, Jim. Keep safe." He disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. 

Jim chewed his cigarette, yearning to light it. He really shouldn't have promised his daughter to stop smoking; Gotham was too cold and depressing to live in without a vice to support you.

***  
Metropolis, the next day

 

"Leslie," Bruce called out. 

She scowled at him above her paperwork. "Bruce, I'm busy."

Bruce laid down his report on her desk, "You'll be busier now. The 'computer' analyzed another way to treat three diseases. Could you get them into the right hands?" 

Leslie pushed back her hair, glancing at the numerous pages resting on her desk. "Bruce, we can't keep this up and you know it."

He opened his mouth to respond but she irritably cut him off with her hand. "I'm not saying curing diseases isn't a noble pursuit. I'm saying our current system is not going to cut it. I can't always be the intermediary and you know it. You've been the one who keeps asking me to be discrete. Bruce, someone's eventually gonna talk or take advantage of your research. They'll trace it back to me and ask me questions I can't answer. I'm a general doctor, Bruce, with limited resources. How am I supposed to have access to all of this top-notch research?" 

Bruce looked at her, not saying anything. It was always harder to deny his requests when he didn't verbally voice it and his sharp eyes bore on you instead. Despite how much she had come to care for this strange kid, Leslie disliked dealing with his stubbornness.

She sighed and brought her arm to rest on the desk. "We'll have to go through a trustworthy association or a corporation or a caritative organization to deliver them. I can't keep seeking out individual colleagues out for this."

Bruce nodded. "Do you have any sort of contact that would be a match for this sort of thing?"

She rolled up her sleeves. "I do. But we will have to be upfront with the source of our information. Would you trust someone other than me?" 

Bruce ground his teeth. He seemed highly displeased. "You can say the higher technology is a secret, but don't mention it is alien technology. Are you sure your contact is trustworthy? We are taking a big risk here."

Leslie quirked an unimpressed eyebrow up. "I'm taking a lot of risks, you mean. You won't even have to meet my contact in person. Our present way of doing things is even riskier in the long run. And, yes, I do trust my contact with my life."

Bruce nodded. "Good." He disappeared from her eyesight. 

Why did she always put up with his eccentric behaviour? It must have been because she felt like his godmother, even if she completely failed as a role model if Bruce's behaviour was anything to go by on.

Leslie glanced at her cellphone, shut her eyes and took the phone in her hands. She composed a number out of memory and pressed the call sign. "Thomas? Yes, it's Leslie. Yes. No. I don't have time for small talk now. I need help. No. Not that kind. We're doing fine with fundraising this year, thanks to your wife. I've got to speak to you in person. Yes. It's not urgent, but it's very important. Can you...? Yes. That's perfect. Thanks, Thomas. I'll see you then."

Leslie hung up the phone, caressing her temples in a hope of diminishing her incoming headache. She wasn't looking forward to that meeting. 

***  
9:00 p.m.  
Metropolis  
City Roses Coffee Shop

 

When Thomas Wayne had first walked in the Coffee Shop and sat in front of Leslie, Bruce had texted Leslie to 'abort the mission.' She had all but ignored his warning and dived into her conversation.

From his spot above, Bruce could see and hear every part of their appointment, from the deep familiarity to the weariness both exhibited with the other. Leslie had been steadily heading in the direction of the Wayne Enterprises and its associated foundations. Thomas Wayne had carefully side-stepped any of her attempts to get real information. 

Finally, Bruce saw her lose patience and address him directly, "Thomas, I recently received confidential information that might be of great use to humanity. However, I need someone who can guarantee the complete anonymity of the information. Can you be trusted with it?"

Bruce's new text messages pinged uselessly on Leslie's phone. Neither she nor her interlocutor gave the phone any attention.

Thomas, a severe-looking man with a mustache frowned at her. "Lee, I would have to know exactly what kind of information we are talking about before I ask you to trust me with it."

Leslie exhaled a breathe and explained, "I have medical information from a high-tech source."

Thomas furrowed is brows even further. "That doesn't seem particularly special. You know how the medical industry is now concerned about the enhanced application of technology. In fact, Wayne Entreprises pride itself with its nanotechnology."

Bruce could see Leslie's eyes darting around before she added, "I meant really high-tech source. I'm talking about something governments would kill to obtain."

The man opposite her clenched his jaw. "Lee..." He touched his forehead. "You're telling me people could kill you for that information? What have you gotten yourself involved in, this time?" 

Leslie straightened her back. "You save mobsters all the time. You are not in a position to question my choices."

The man's hand closed on itself. "I'm a doctor. You know what the Hippocratic Oath we took means. This, whatever you've involved yourself in, is something else altogether."

"I can take care of myself," Leslie snapped back.

Bruce could see the man's resignation in his shoulder. "Why can't you just continue volunteering and helping out people the way you used to? Why do you have to get yourself involved in this matter?"

Leslie's glare only accentuated. She, contrary to Bruce, had not caught on that the man was not strictly talking about her any longer. "Are you going to help me, Thomas?"

They had a staring contest. Thomas Wayne finally averted his eyes. "Fine. I'll help you. But, only to help you survive your recklessness."

Bruce turned around and clenched his fists, incapable of watching more of this. Leslie had no idea she had just indirectly linked Batman's and Superman's fate together. She had doubled the danger to both herself and the Waynes; if either identity was revealed, under further scrutiny, the connection between Leslie and the Waynes would bring about their downfall. This was reckless. Stupid even. Bruce shouldn't have asked for her help. 

He took a deep breath. He had to calm himself. Leslie was ignoring his judgement on this issue, as her previous actions proved. There had to be another way to get out of this problem while still resolving the medical health information issue.

He pressed his eyes closed. 

His phone rang. "Bruce Kent," he irritably answered.

"Kent, I need some pictures at an high-society event tonight in Metropolis. Think you can make it?"

"Yes," he growled out, not even trying to seem remotely polite.

"Good. I'm sending Lois to cover it. Coordinate the details with her. Don't forget to bring a tie."

Bruce didn't promise anything. He already knew that Perry would hang up before he could give an answer. And that's what the Daily Planet boss did. 

Bruce would rather be caught dead than wear a stupid tie. 

He dialled one of the other numbers he knew by heart and she answered almost as irritably as he had. "Kent, you better not be the one paired with me tonight or I'm resigning."

Bruce felt some satisfaction in responding, "Better start working on your resignation letter, then."

He heard her curse under her breath. 

"What is the time and location?" Bruce smugly asked. Count on Lois to brighten his mood.

Lois snarled an address and a time before hanging up. Bruce was sure she would try to persuade Perry to change his orders. 

A small grin appeared on his face; Lois's dislike had been a nice side-effect of persuading Perry to put him on the picture duty for any Lois's and Lex Luthor's possible event encounters. 

The grin faded. Bruce had buried as much as possible of Lionel Luthor's research, but Lex was cleverer than his father had ever been. It was only a matter of time before he made all the necessary connections about Superman. Bruce closed his eyes, pressing the bridge of his nose. Lex Luthor and Clark Wayne. 

Why was it always the billionaire heirs that came too close to his secrets, be it as Superman or Bruce Kent?


	7. Metropolis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex Luthor makes an announcement at his Metropolis event.

Lois was sure Kent kept a list of the things she absolutely hated just to spring it on her. She had the undeniable certainty that had she ever commented on the ugliness of Hawaiian shirts in his presence, he'd wear neon pink, tied-died or hunting gear orange Hawaiian shirts for all of their joint projects. 

Her colleagues called her paranoid when it came to Kent because of her lack of proof. She knew, however, that her conviction cemented itself with hunches as real as the ones that drove her stories; she had gasped part of the truth, she just needed to prove it. 

Beside her, Kent ignored the flirty overture of an actress in favour of examining his stupid camera with a critical eye. Lois wanted to shove her elbow in his ribcage; the upcoming actress was all the rage and could easily fill part of one of Lois's fluff articles quota if her antisocial photographer didn't ruin her chances. 

"Mrs. Yalnvul, may I ask you a few questions? The Daily Planet readers are always avid for information about your projects." Lois smiled politely as she used one of her rote sentences. She despised doing fluff articles, nonetheless, she was also aware it was a compromise she had come with Perry to counterbalance her unusual freedom concerning her stories' content. 

The actress nodded and answered some questions as Kent took a few pictures of her. Lois thank the woman and gripped Kent's arm before he could wander off to his usual antisocial techniques. He furrowed his brows at her yet, remained in place. 

"Kent."

"Lane," Kent mimicked her tone with a hint of sarcasm.

Lois glared at him as her grip turned a bit stronger. "You better not escape again before the end of the ceremony."

"Or what?" Kent questioned with one raised eyebrow. "You'll get me fired?"

He was impossible to deal with. Why couldn't Perry understand that?

Lois leaned in Kent's personal space with the intention to scare him off. Unfortunately, she had not considered the obvious drawbacks of her situation. For one, he had a strong built and towered her. That meant her invasion of space was ridiculous. Secondly, she had obviously forgotten he wasn't a man to be intimidated or impressed by anyone or anything. The result, in the end, was that she felt foolish and Kent's smirk grew sharper at her failed attempt. 

"No," Lois finally answered, sweet venom in her voice, "I'll brag about your photographing skills to the cream of the crop of these high society functions. You'll receive hundreds of family picture requests." 

He frowned at her. "You'll market my product for free... How is that a bad thing for me?"

She let his arm go. "Do you want a sample of my generosity right now?" He blinked at her. She smiled at him. "I can even introduce you to the best gossipers in the room." She turned her back to him and gestured in front of her. "Come on..." She whipped her head back in his direction. He was no longer behind her.

Lois nodded, satisfied. 

At least, she had gotten some tricks over their collaboration period on how to get under his skin too. Good riddance. 

***

Bruce scanned the crowd again, looking for any kind of clues as to Lex Luthor's announcement for the event. The billionaire had made a big deal of the purpose of the evening, teasing endlessly the press with how important tonight was for himself. He'd secured top billing with his invitees; he had even convinced the Amazon princess herself to attend the event in person. 

Bruce clenched his camera in his hands, controlling his strength in order not to destroy his precious item. He hated surprises, especially when it came attached with the name Luthor.

He saw the crowd gasp and gather around the entry. It had to be Wonder Woman's appearance. With one quick glance, he knew it was. 

He frowned in her direction. She was another unknown factor, one that had been in contact with Lex Luthor. Media footage had revealed her impressive strength, speed, agility, and, even worse in Bruce's mind, her use of 'magic.' Bruce shook his head to shake the thought away; magic did not exist. It had to be an unknown technology the Fortress couldn't yet analyze. 

Finally, the Amazon princess appeared in his field of 'human' vision with a glorious navy slit blue evening dress hugging her more than fair assets. Her flowing black hair fell below her shoulders while her patient sea coloured eyes rested on her current interlocutor. Wonder Woman had none of her "battle" gear visible on her. Her navy blue heels highlighted the exposed calf's fine craftsmanship (if the absurd rumours she was made of clay were to be believed). 

From Bruce's position, he couldn't see any trace of makeup nor accessories; not that there was any need for them with her alluring presence, he sarcastically noted. She may have been the Amazon's or some other organization's (who could vouch she was even an Amazon? Were there any Amazons left?) scout trying to determine the best way to take over the world, however, everyone seemed too distracted by Wonder Woman's appearance or actions to wonder about the truth of her suspicious 'mission.'

Bruce pointed his objective in her direction, knowing he was expected to take pictures of her for the Daily Planet. None of the first pictures really captured what Bruce sought. It frustrated him to only capture her charm and natural beauty in his photos. He exhaled.

There. He took a picture of the moment she moved with a warrior's grace and efficiency instead of a diplomate's elegance. He grinned to himself. Got it. 

Despite her calm smile, Wonder Woman was not, at heart, a pacifist. That much had been made clear to Bruce. 

She wasn't even a non-interventionist. In fact, contrary to Superman, she did not solely appear for life-to-death crisis, but rather to interfere with various situations as she saw fit. 

The public loved her self-righteousness and caring nature.

That added power of Wonder Woman, persuasion and charm, made her a potentially dangerous adversary. Her ease at public speaking made her appear more often than not as the superheroes' advocate, which could hinder or restrict Superman's movements.

Bruce snapped out of his train of thought. The Wonder Woman commotion had quieted down. Lex Luthor was nowhere in sight. The stage was set for the main event. As if on cue, an announcer started to ask everyone to gather around him for 'Mr. Luthor's special announcement.'

Bruce leaned against the wall, concentration solely on the podium. 

Lex Luthor walked upstage, eyes gleaming with the pride of an owner looking at his chattel. Bruce bristled. 

Lex held a hand to quietened down the polite applause. 

"Gentlemen and ladies, I thank you all for making the time to attend this function tonight." Some applause. "Tonight is a special night for me. It is my father's fifth death anniversary."

Bruce stopped breathing.

The room fell in reverent silence, as Lex took a dramatic pause to ratch up the tension.

"Five years ago," Lex continued, "My father's body was found in his private laboratories. No doubt, he was attempting to make another contribution to humankind's advancement." 

No, he hadn't, Bruce bitterly thought.

Lex pretended to be beset with grief. "We... didn't always see eye to eye, but, that night, he told me he had a really special project in mind. Something that would change the world."

Lex blinked the (fake) tears. "When his body was found in the morning, I thought an accident had prematurely taken my father's life away." The pause lingered in the deathly quiet hall.

Bruce had to force himself to resume his fake breathing.

Lex's face rose to meet the audience, his eyes steely with determination. "Back then, the extensive damages on his body was attributed to a weapon, even if it didn't match any type of weapon in the Luthor laboratories. Since Lionel Luthor was the only one seen entering the laboratories and it didn't look like a suicide, the police officers concluded it was an accident."

"But, nowadays," Lex continued, voice low, "It's not only weapons that can leave marks like that. There are new possible explanations..." 

Lex levelled a look at the crowd, seeming more like a predator than a victim's family. Bruce captured the look with his tool, his hands tremoring as he did. "The police have recently reopened my father's death's investigation on new information that has come to light. Last week, they have confirmed it was likely my father's death was a homicide caused by someone with powers."

Bruce swallowed. 

It seemed Lex was keen on being the one to throw the match into the gunpowder barrels. Bruce knew he was up to something (which is why he was keeping a close eye on him), but he hadn't thought Lex would use his father's death as the match to ignite his war on 'superheroes,'

Bruce felt the familiar hate welling in his stomach; the hate he had directed at another Luthor five years ago. Like father, like son... 

His guilt tempered somewhat the vividness of his hate and anger. Even if he hated Lex, he had been the one to rob him of a father in his life.

Bruce escaped to the nearest balcony. 

He felt drained as he looked down at the Metropolis streets. He itched to use the sewers again to change his clothes and fly to someone's help. How long could he use the name Bruce Kent? He had always known he should have used another name to keep an eye on Lex Luthor... Unfortunately, it was one of the only things he had left of Ma and Pa to remember them by.

Lex Luthor's speech finally reached its conclusion. Bruce found himself listening to the conversations inside to get a read on the public's reactions. 

"Are you okay?" a lilted voice startled Bruce out of his reverie. He frowned at the Amazonian princess tilting her head at him. She was the center of attention everywhere she went; how had she slipped to the balcony without her entourage?

"Do you need me to call someone?" Wonder Woman gently asked. 

Bruce shook his head, feeling embarrassed at having shown weakness, especially not to another possible threat. "I'm fine," he curtly answered as he pushed himself off the railings.

Her disbelieving look didn't endear her to him. "You weren't going to jump?" 

Bruce was taken aback. "What?"

"You were looking at the road as if you wanted to jump," Wonder Woman helpfully repeated. The pity in her eyes softened her warrior's face. 

Bruce massaged the space between his eyebrows, "No. I'm not going to jump." 

Wonder Woman walked a few steps closer, still looking concerned. "At this height, you would probably die. Your followers would be upset."

"What. Are. You. Talking. About."

The Amazon princess seemed even more confused at his vehemence. She gestured at his camera. "I thought you were attempting to fulfill some sort of juvenile challenge I have seen grown adults do."

Bruce's mouth pressed shut in a thin line. "No. I'm a photographer at Lex Luthor's event."

"Ah." She blinked at him. "Are you not going to jump then?"

"NO."

The gorgeous brunette seemed relieved but doubtful. "Making memories is a noble occupation. Arts are the nourishment of the soul."

"What about warriors then?"

She gazed at him with too much wisdom. "Warriors are protectors of the weak and of peace." 

Bruce scoffed, "You came for war."

"I come in peace," the brunette firmly answered. 

"And what does your peace entail exactly?"

Wonder Woman smiled at him, "You are the first to ask me that question here."

Bruce gestured to the shiny and hateful city below them. "Peace only works when it is everyone's objectives. Otherwise, it is tyranny. Is that what you are proposing, forcing your idea of peace upon us? Even when Lex Luthor is starting a witch hunt against people with powers?"

Wonder Woman leaned her back on the railings and held on to it with her hands. 

Bruce suddenly realized he had uncharacteristically let the truth burst out of his lips. He shut his mouth and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Amazon princess gazing evenly at him with knowing eyes. Her evening dress and hair blowing in the air and alighting her with the soft glow of the moon's reflection high above them. 

"What did you do to me?" Bruce growled out. 

Her lips curled up. "You are a sharp one." Wonder Woman looked an enchantress or a witch on that balcony, carelessly throwing around her magic. 

"What did you do to me?" Bruce repeated in a nastier tone. 

The woman brought one hand up between them. "I did nothing special. As an incarnate of Truth, people feel compelled to spill it in front of me."

Bruce stepped back. Magic. This is what she was calling her "influencing" him. What was the radius of her influence? His eyes darted back at the hall filled with people. Could she influence all of them?

Her light laughs echoed in his ears. He snapped his head back at her as she glided toward him, her heels clicking on the balcony's floor. "I really did come in peace, but I appreciate your caution. I am Wonder Woman, daughter of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. May I have the honour of receiving your name, strange man?"

Bruce retreated a step and resolutely kept his mouth shut to avoid spilling any more truths.

Her eyes gleamed with laughter as she took back her proffered hand. "You look like some cat people have been showing me. If you do not say your name, I will give you another name."

Bruce glared at her. 

One of her hands touched her chin. "Grumpy it shall be. It fits your scowl like a glove."

A clatter sounded from the entry to their balcony. Wonder Woman turned in all of her gracious glory, "May I help you?"

A visibly anxious man muttered, "Uh, your... Excellence, I mean, your Highness, your presence is requested."

Wonder Woman nodded in his direction with her regal bearing. "I am coming."

She waved at Bruce. "Goodnight, Mr. Grumpy. May the Fates bring us together again." She walked back inside. 

Bruce made a mental note to evade contact with the Amazon for the foreseeable future.

The attendees' conversations drifted to Bruce's position outside the house. He could hear the subtle shift in their tones from earlier tonight. 

Metropolis, the city of the future. 

Yet, here they were, highly educated civilians, already discussing Lex Luthor's witch hunt with enthusiasm. 

Lex Luthor had seemed eager to start a marketing war against the superheroes and, more particularly, against Superman. Bruce knew Lex had an inkling the 'creature' who had killed his father was Superman himself.

He leaned on the doorsill, watching Lex Luthor walk through the room, hinting of the dangers of superpowered 'monsters' wandering about. Monsters who would bludgeon people in their homes and callously destroy family units...

Bruce clenched his fist. He felt his eyes itched with the desire to burn down this ostentatious show of hypocrisy and obscene wealth.

Finally, he relaxed his fist. Lex Luthor was a man of this world; Bruce Kent was not. Lex Luthor had a right to chase away alien invaders if he so chose. 

This was his world after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's luck is amazingly horrible. He wanted to avoid meeting other superheroes and both Wonder Woman and Batman spoke to him at events.


	8. Forensic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark investigates. He also keeps his appointment with Flash.

Clark liked stories.

He had read Harry Potter in first grade; Sherlock Holmes in third grade; Lord of the Rings and Dune in fifth grade; The Stars My Destination in seventh grade. He had plowed through The Three-Body Problem and Oryx and Crate with undivided attention. From there on, he'd focused his attention more and more on the science-fiction genre. 

The wonderful thing about the well crafted science-fiction books was the juxtaposition between scientific advancement and human's social behaviour in a crisis. More often than not, the stories thus created served as warnings of some specific human-like traits and how they could bring about the end of civilization. Aliens served as mirrors of human behaviour, deconstructing the human types or behaviours in categories to help transmit a profoundly human truth.

Now that he was Batman, Clark didn't have enough time to devote to reading science-fiction books. Instead, he had used his passion for science to help motivate him at his day job, especially considering he had to have something passionate to accomplish to keep from falling asleep. He had used his love of mysteries and thrillers in his Batman identity. With Jim's help, they would unravel complicated crime scenes and determinate the correct culprit. He'd gotten good at catching the important details and his intuition rarely lead him astray.

Which is why, when Clark had any 'spare' time, he'd try to solve mysteries. Now, on top of investigating the new criminal element appearing in Gotham, he also had two mysteries to solve.

1) Who had killed Flash's mother? What exactly had happened?

2) Who had killed Martha and Jonathan Kent? What exactly had happened?

The first mystery was the most baffling as to the incongruent versions of the event. Both Barry Allen and his father's testimonies insisted there were flashes of colour moving in the room too fast to be distinguished. Insofar as Clark could tell, the police officers had been throughout with their jobs; fingerprints had been taken, witnesses had been interviewed and the coroner had done a complete sweep of the situations. The conclusion had been published in the Central City's newspapers based on the stringent facts found by the judge. Logically, and based on all the facts before Clark, Flash's father had to be guilty.

However, Lex Luthor's announcement came to Clark's mind: superpowers may change the logical and natural conclusion in some criminal cases. What was once deemed impossible had to be now reconsidered. It was therefore possible someone other than Flash's father had murdered his mother. Who and how? These were the questions that baffled Clark.

In the second mystery, Bruce Kent's parents'murder, it was the opposite problem. Whoever had investigated had done a botched job of it; no witnesses had been interviewed according to the police's file; the coroner had not declared the suspicious event as a homicide, but rather as uncleared; nothing in the police's file suggested anyone had sought ballistic reports. Moreover, there were no articles written on the murder. Not even by the local newspaper. Instead, the front page news the following morning had been that Miss Abelblack had qualified to attend the regional pageant. The obituaries published in the newspaper the following week made absolutely no references to the tragic cause of their deaths.

That mystery stank of a coverup. That was easier for Clark to navigate than the hypothetical nature of powers used to murder Flash's mother. Clark did what any good investigator did, he looked for a motive.

On the surface, it was clear Bruce Kent had inherited all of his parents' meagre belongings. But, seeing how he was a minor, the property had to be sold. Clark had managed to find, with a few clicks, the current owner of the property. His suspicious of the coverup increased when he noticed the owner was a numbered company. It more than quadrupled when he observed that the adjoining properties had been bought by the same numbered company within the same year.

Clark had pulled satellite images of the Smallville properties in question and analyzed them in details. There was no refineries nor massive holes, typical of drilling or mining companies.

Unruffled by the negatives he'd been drawing, he also studied the groundwater situation in Smallville, Kansas. It soon came to his attention that scientific researches posited the State and the region was facing a groundwater depletion issue. Being the top agriculture-producing State in the USA, Kansas's water consumption was also elevated. From what Clark could gather, the groundwater depletion crisis had been on the State's horizon since the 1970s, meaning that, despite the legislation's interventions, the situation remained as dire and urgent for the farmers. In Smallville, the town had been more affected than in most rural places in Kansas. The wells had to reach deeper than ever to get access to the aquifer. For an agriculture business, this information would have rendered Smallville less attractive in the long run.

This also meant that the numbered company had not, in all probabilities, bought the farmers' properties with the idea of getting access to the water.

If the properties weren't used for agriculture, water access or any other obvious raw resources, why had a numbered company bought them?

In Clark's mind, this was a very interesting starting point to resolve the Kents' murders.

He had dove into the Smallville's history, starting from the time the town was mistakenly established at the wrong location. Initially, the settlers had chosen that location because they thought the railway was being constructed through it. By investing in settling beforehand, they'd get better choices and better prices despite the heightened hardships associated with being first. When the railway set to be constructed had diverted into another lobbying town, Smallville's residents had already been settled for long enough that most settlers hadn't wanted to move. They had started farms and had noticed the ground was perfect to grow wheat and corn. With those products, they could feed cattle. The town's main economic reliance was, therefore, wheat, corn and cattle. Even nowadays, these remained the main economic driving force of the town.

Clark had read through the light historical records to find another interesting fact about Smallville: a meteorite shower had hit it twenty years prior.

Clark had compared the map of the Smallville affected by the shower to the properties bought by a numbered company twelve years prior. They matched.

Clark had leaned his head back and had thought the facts through. One, meteorites had showered the town of Smallville. Two, someone had bought all the properties affected by the meteorite shower eight years after.

No farmers had refused to sell their properties to the numbered company. Clark frowned. Even if the land were not viable for agriculture, in the long run, there normally were people who were too nostalgic or emotionally attached to their lands to sell them. This was too suspicious...

If he was reading this correctly, the numbered company had paid someone to convince the recalcitrant owners to change their tune. If Bruce's stubbornness had been instilled in him by his adoptive parents, it was probable, his parents hadn't agreed to sell their property.

Closing his eyes, he could imagine a civilized gangster being sent to Kent's house, a big and old-fashioned house with a red barn not too far away, to convince them to change their minds. He could imagine the burly and intimidating man knocking on the colour faded door with a big fist. He could visualize the kind looking lady, the one he'd found in the obituary, opening the door with a welcoming smile that would have frozen on her face as she took in the stranger's appearance on her stoop. She'd have known he meant trouble.

Maybe, she would have called her husband in the urgent tone Clark's own mother did when a patient had been shipped unannounced to the Manor. Jonathan Kent, based on the coroner's report and other photos, had been a sturdy and stocky man. He wouldn't appreciate someone coming to his property and threatening his family. He'd be honest and straightforward in his dislike. The words would have grown snappier and forceful...

Clark opened his eyes. Then what?

Had the kid even been listening in to the confrontation, just beside the staircase? Had he seen his parents shot? Had the killer seen him and threatened him? Or had the kid walked in later and seen the carnage? Had the killer set out to set an example of the Kents? Warning others not to refuse to sell their properties? That the buyer was too powerful to be refused? Why would the buyer want all the lands where the meteorites had hit, eight years after the meteorite shower?

Clark was itching to get the name behind the numbered company, however, he barely had time to get to Central City to keep his appointment with Flash. Sighing, Clark got his 'special' car ready and headed to Central City.

He had to turn his mind to the more immediate worry of making his mind about Flash and asking him to join his superhero group.

In his mind, he reviewed what he knew about the man. A genius chimist, Barry Allen was employed as a chemist forensic at the highly noted Central City Police Station. All the descriptions Clark had found of the man were praise for his intelligence, politeness and minor grumblings about his lateness and slowness. 

Clark grinned. The fastest man alive being late for work was ironic when you thought about it. Hal had described Barry as a 'good guy.' After Wonder Woman, he was the most vocable 'superhero' to media outlets. He'd often smile and answer questions. He was well liked and appreciated. The thing that Batman had most admired about him was how he rarely injured anyone, either criminals or civilians, when he interfered.

Clark arrived at the meeting spot a few minutes before the appointment time. The stars shined more brilliantly without the Gotham clouds dulling their lights. Once again, he was reminded of the days he spent drifting on his boat after a terrifying storm. He couldn't help but remember his awe at the magnificence and danger of Mother Nature.

Batman's attention focused fully on the yellow streak appearing turning on the roof before it stopped to reveal a lean red costumed man. From up close, the Flash seemed younger than he had appeared on videos or photos. "Batman?" the man cautiously asked.

"Hey," Batman said as he revealed himself. He was amused by the other superhero's jump back.

Flash blinked at Batman and smiled apologetically. "I thought Green Lantern was kidding when he was telling me you blend in with the surroundings so well nobody can detect you."

Batman flashed his teeth as he offered his hand in a hearty handshake. "Nice to meet you, Flash. I've heard good things about the work you do."

Flash bashfully turned red. "Really? I-mean-sometimes-I-think-I-could-do-more... I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

Batman tactfully changed the conversation's topic. "Did Green Lantern tell you why I wanted to meet you?"

Flash shook his head, looking more solemn as he did. "No. Did something bad happen?"

"Nothing special. However, I think it is time to form a superheroes' network. We could better coordinate responses to threats and it would be easier to ask for help in time of need. Together, I think we stand a better chance of helping the world."

Batman was surprised by the admiration and excitement in Flash's eyes. Before the fastest man could answer, however, heavy drops of water splattered on the roof. Batman's head whipped up to see suspiciously dark clouds forming above the city.

"What is that?" Batman asked, confused by the complete change of weather. Flash shrugged and he was gone in a streak of yellow. Batman tuned in to the police officers' channel and heard confused comments on the rain pouring down on them. Until the rain became big pieces of hail.

Someone was playing with the weather, Batman deduced. Clouds didn't form this quickly... Jumping over the edge with his feet, he used his grapple to find cover. From there, he used his high-tech phone to find the center of the disturbance. He focused on the most dramatic drop of pressure. The Jewelry Master Shop.

This had to be premeditated.

Batman jumped down and took the motorcycle he'd hid in his car for his Batman activities. Before taking off, he whipped his cape around his torso and tied it down with the helm he'd install in his suit for cases like these; the last thing he wanted was to get strangled by his own cape.

Heading downtown, he could see the hail becoming bigger and bigger. It could now easily kill someone if it fell on their heads. Arriving at the mall where the jewelry store was located, he saw a black-haired man in a green jacket, a striped black and yellow shirt, black pants and yellow lined boots waving a thin wand on the rooftop as he held a black back in his other hand.

A piece of hail gazed Batman's motorcycling, making it skid out of control. He rolled out of the moving vehicle under a business's parapet.

Batman used his grapple to zip up, still protected by the building's cornice. He gritted his teeth. He had to put himself under the hail to get a chance to stop the man's destruction. He unhooked his cape.

In one swell move, he lifted himself with his arms and with his strength, he rotated in the air, from his feet pointing down until they touched the roof. Letting go and pushing himself, he rolled on his feet, hand and feet until he was on the rooftop facing the startled man. Batman pushed his advantage by throwing his Batarang at his adversary. "Give up and nobody gets hurts." The man waved his wand and ice materialized in front of him, effectively rendering Batman's attack useless. A piece of hail clipped Batman's shoulder, making him lose his footing. The green jacket man waved his wand and ice appeared under Batman's feet. The superhero felt himself slipping and hitting the ice hard as he fell on his hands.

The green jacket man grinned from behind his protective wall and raised his wand hand with a flourish. Batman knew he had no way to run from the incoming attack.

A blinding flash of yellow appeared behind the criminal and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Flash gave Batman a grateful smile. "Thanks for the assist. How did you know where he was?"

Batman carefully stood. "The pressure drop around the Jewelry Master Shop was abnormal."

Before Flash could comment, Batman's police officers' channel gritted out something about a plane losing control because it got damaged in the storm. The Gotham hero looked at the sky and saw the plane careening. He dryly asked, "Do you have any convenient power that can stop a plane from crashing?"

Flash's eyes widened as he took in the situation. "I can start a tornado?"

Batman then did something really, really stupid before he could think it through. "Superman!"

Flash's head whipped around. "He's here?"

Batman wanted to berate himself for his stupid exclamation. Until he noticed a blur move in the plane's direction.

Even though the storm had dissipated, from the distance, it was hard to see the details of the blur's movement. Batman used his long-distance lenses embedded in his costume's white lenses to see how Superman (because that's who the blur was, apparently) was supporting the plane's weight with his back to restore the equilibrium between both sides of the plane. Acting as a counterbalance to the damaged wing, Superman helped the pilot safely land the plane. He even sought the plane's special stairs and an airport employee to install the stairs for the passengers to escape the plane.

"Hal told me you told him you had contact with Superman. But he didn't tell me you had a direct line to him? And he can stop a falling plane? Man, that is epic." Flash even whistled, impressed with Batman's resources and Superman's powers.

Batman didn't really know what to respond. Was this the right time to mention he didn't have any type of line to Superman? And that Superman had to be spying or stalking him? When exactly was the right time to mention that he wanted to be the first to know what had just happened?

"Do you think he'd accept to race me?" Flash continued as they stared at Superman waving at the airport employee after the stairs had been installed. He flew away.

Batman instead asked, "Does that mean you're joining the superheroes' network?"

Flash gestured to Batman and the plane. "After this display? I'd be stupid not to. I mean, I already really wanted to join and all, but this? This just proves how much better we are together."

Batman forced a smile on his face, "It sure does."

He could vividly remember Superman's suggestion that he do something less dangerous with his life. Superman thought he was so fragile by himself that he had stalked Batman or spied on him because he couldn't take care of himself. Even if Superman had saved hundreds of lives tonight, Batman thought it was about time to confront the hero about his outrageous behaviour.

Externally, Batman was chatting amicably with Flash.

Internally, he was raging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark started the stalking war and, now, he's fuming because he's on the receiving end of it... What comes around, goes around, indeed.


	9. Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark Wayne wants to resolve at least one mystery.

"Clark," Lucius said as he closed the office's door, "Did your investigation move forward?"

Clark looked up from yet another of Superman's video of the superhero saving the plane, "Which one?"

Lucius gestured a sign he needed to change the confidentiality setting of the room for the conversation, as they did every time something delicate was discussed. Clark pressed a few keys on his computer, turning the room 'secure' for a confidential conversation. 

"The Wayne Enterprises leak."

Clark shook his head. "It's either a highly skilled hacker or a mole. I'm not sure yet. Did something happen?"

Lucius sighed. "We will soon be privy to ultra-secret information that cannot be leaked."

Clark pushed back his glasses, a frown marring his features. "I thought Wayne Enterprises had gotten out of weapons manufacturing under my father's directive."

"We did. This is medical information," Lucius explained.

Clark frown deepened. "That's odd..."

"Why?"

"Although Wayne Enterprises does have a medical division, we are foremost known for our technological advances in transportation and communication. I understand the pharmaceutical industry pays a lot but does it warrant the 'ultra-secret' adjectives?"

"I don't know," Lucius stoically admitted.

Clark's eyes widened in surprise. "This ultra-secret medical information comes directly from my father, doesn't it? That's the only person you'd accept this kind of request of without knowing the details. What a hypocrite; he told me becoming a hero was too dangerous for our family and he gets involved in something this shady without so much as a warning?"

"Clark," the older man warned him.

"I know," Clark exhaled, "You don't take sides." He lifted both hands to show he would abandon his complaints. "I'll focus even more attention on catching our leak. I know that's why you hired me in the first place."

"Any leads?"

"Maybe Lex Luthor is involved?" Clark mused. 

"Why?"

Clark shrugged. "Despite the very public feud between my father and I, he didn't try to recruit me as a mole?" 

Lucius lifted one amused eyebrow. "You think he is guilty because he didn't try to profit from your familial situation?"

"Wouldn't you also think so?" 

Lucius smiled. "Wouldn't it be because, from what you told me, you said you didn't distrust Superman all that much? If last week's speech is anything to go on, Lex Luthor seems to profoundly hate superpowers in the city Superman appears the most frequently."

Clark grimaced as crossed his arms. "It's just that Lex Luthor is a corporate cutthroat who would want nothing more than to buy his rivals' businesses and Wayne Enterprises is the most successful of his rivals. He makes for a very compelling villain."

Lucius shook his head in exasperation, "If it is him, it would be hard to prove it. He's slippery enough as it is."

"He is," Clark confirmed as he glanced back to the paused video on his computer screen.

"Still haven't figure out Superman's identity?"

Clark's eyes hardened. "Not yet. I also know he is spying or stalking me."

Lucius's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "That's... alarming."

Clark's lips pinched forward. "And I still have no idea of the limits of his powers. He can lift a plane and he doesn't even seem to be straining. What else is he able to accomplish?"

Lucius took in Clark's serious look and the rhythm of his fingers tapping the desk. "Are you viewing him as a possible ally or a possible threat?"

Clark leaned back, sharp eyes focused on the older male. "He's helping people out without a clear gain. That should make him our ally..." His jaw clenched shut as if it physically hurt to say the words. 

Lucius wasn't sure if he should be amused or worried with Clark's optimistic outlook. From his perspective, he found it hard to believe in a mystery being that stalked Batman. His motives or intentions were unknown. The limits of his powers were unknown. His origins were unknown. Overall, they knew nothing about it. Sure, Wonder Woman's story about coming from an (unknown) land of Amazons strained the limits of believability, nonetheless, there was something to analyze. 

Clark added, "But I need to get any kind of leverage on him as soon as possible. The current situation is unacceptable."

With that, he pressed the keys to change the room's confidentiality settings back to normal. 

"I wish you the best of luck in your endeavours, Clark," Lucius couldn't stop himself from saying. 

***  
Later, Gotham

 

Clark unlocked his apartment and took in the spectacle that awaited his return home. The 'living room' was cluttered of his current 'hobby' investigations' papers. The computer was something incredible for research, however, there was something calming in having physical papers of his investigations in his hands to shuffle around. 

The engineer closed and locked his apartment before heading into his kitchen and starting a brew of coffee. He would need some before he headed outside for his patrol later in the evening. 

His Superman research had not given him any clues. Maybe it was time to change techniques. Until now, he had used mostly detective deducting reasoning, however, he had more tools in his arsenal. 

He could use a monk meditation technique to review what his body remembered about their past interaction in Gotham. 

"Most people use the eyes to filter information. That's the sense that's more easily bewildered. You need to master your other senses' abilities. They are much more reliable than your trickery eyes," his master had once taught him. 

Clark hesitated a moment before he divested himself of his suit's jacket and tie. He sat on the floor, his back touching the wall and his ass on the floor. He crossed his legs in a lotus position before concentrating on his breathing.

Breath into your chest. Breath out through your nose. In. Out. Relax your body until you've cleaned it of distracting thoughts. 

Remember, his master would admonish him, let your body remember. Don't force it. 

Drowning. Erratic Breathing. Body fighting death. It hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Lungs. Heart. Brain. Alarm. Dying.

Clark's breathing and heartbeat slowed down to mimic his own death. 

Arms around him. Lifting him from the water behind knees and shoulders. Deposited on the ground. 

Still not breathing. 

Hurt ribs. Force pushed the armour in, crushing a few of them. Pain. Pain in the chest. Lungs are pushed to breathe. 

Still not breathing. 

Mouth forced opened. Soft lips are pressed perpendicularly on his mouth. Air pushed in. Chest Compressions. 

Coughing water. Breathing again. Pain.

Cigarette.

Clark opened his eyes at the realization. 

Superman's lips smelled like cigarette. 

More precisely, he smelled like the cigarette Bruce Kent had smoked in front of Clark that very same night in Metropolis. 

It should have been a small clue, instead, Clark's mind formed a conclusion. Bruce Kent was Superman.

He frowned. They couldn't be the same person. 

"Really?" His mind supplied, "Are you sure?"

There was the matter of the physical appearances of both. Tall, but not ridiculously so (about an inch smaller than Clark or Batman). Broad shoulders. Lips... He shook the thought away. 

Clark focused on the words they had both spoken.

"Your mother doesn't deserve to lose her son to his careless curiosity," and "Stay away. That's all I'm asking," Bruce Kent had told him.

"I'd rather not see you broken or dead, lovely bird. Maybe you should choose something less dangerous to do with your life," Superman had told him.

Then, there was the matter of their actions. Bruce Kent wanted to chase people away with his indifference and his belligerence. Superman flirted at inappropriate moments with the people he rescued. Dumb and ridiculously sappy Superman. Smart and dismissive Bruce Kent. 

Bruce who took photos; Superman who avoided them.

Understanding dawned on Clark Wayne. They were basically using different techniques to keep people away and be kept out of the camera's objective whenever possible. 

The engineer stood, hands clutching the doorway.

He felt more lighthearted as if his rage at Superman abated when mixed with his strange fascination of Bruce Kent. 

He tried imagining Bruce sarcastically reciting Superman's ridiculous flirting lines at him. Instead of being amused at the picture or vexed as he had been when Superman had told him those lines, Clark felt his face grow hot. He passed a hand through his hair as his visage faced the floor.

God, did he want Superman to be Bruce for personal reasons?

There was no tangible proof of their connection. Only the capricious whiff of poisonous smoke.

The engineer needed something more to hold on to the hypothesis.

His eyes fell upon his coat and he knew he couldn't stop his itching desire to know. 

He drove like a maniac on the Highway, not caring about his supposedly mild-mannered public personality. 

Clark realized he didn't even have a plan when he parked the car beside the clinic, hands still clenching the wheel. No matter, he was pretty good at improvising. 

He walked to the clinic's receptionist and asked for Bruce Kent. The receptionist gave him a doubtful once-over before she reluctantly called someone on the phone. The following conversation was brief. 

The receptionist hung up and motioned a seat in the waiting room. Clark, almost stumbling to his seat, sat in relative silence. His leg bounced in cadence while his gaze fixed the corridor. 

A few minutes later, he saw a man walking towards him and he immediately recognized him. He rose to his meeting, nervously pushing back his glasses up, half for his secret identity's sake, half in genuine anticipation.

The scowl Bruce sent his way was furious. Before Clark could even smooth the meeting over, Bruce growled in a whisper (how was that even possible?): "I thought we had an agreement that you'd leave me alone."

Clark glanced about and tilted his head to the side to consider the best approach in the circumstances. 

He grinned. Bruce grew twice as wary. 

"Bruce, so nice to see you, ol' friend. I thought you had forgotten our appointment..."Clark loudly answered as he clumsily clapped Bruce's back, drawing the annoyed receptionist and curious bystanders' attention. Bruce's eyes narrowed dangerously. 

Funnily enough, knowing Bruce was Superman gave Clark the incentive to tease him even further. 

"Are you up for our drinks now or should I wait some more? I don't mind waiting all night..."

Clark remembered that the last time he had presented himself here, Bruce had hinted that barging at his work (or volunteer work, in his case) was a terrible idea. 

"We should go now," Bruce replied in a dry, unamused tone as he stomped to the building's exit. 

"Don't... you need to let them know... you are going?" Clark's shy persona resurfaced. The other man didn't pause his strides. The engineer figured that answered the question.

Bruce turned the building's corner as Clark jogged to catch him. "Bruce..."

The man whirled around like an unstoppable force of nature, eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness of the trees' canopy. "Why are you here?"

Clark stepped closer, "I've once been told I have good eyes."

Bruce didn't react to the reference of Superman's flirting. "You better not be here to boast."

Clark shook his head, knowing this was a hard nut to crack, "That's not it. I know you are Superman."

Bruce crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow at him. "I don't like pranks. You better tell me the real purpose of your presence here or I'm putting a restraining order on you."

That was a lie Clark could easily recognize. "You won't. You don't want the attention."

The sun's rays died on the left side of Bruce's face, alighting his pale skin with almost fiery magic. His lips thinned, one side looked orange while the other was engulfed in shadows. 

Clark straightened. "Let's cut the chase. I know you are Superman, Bruce Kent, stop pretending you are not."

Bruce's face could have been granite for all the expression changed. "I'm not. If you are quite done with your fantasies, you should leave and stop pestering me."

Clark needed proof, not this wall of denial. 

He stepped in the other man's space, lifting his hand as if to hit him. He could see in Bruce's stance he was going to act like a normal human if he got hit. So, Clark did the unthinkable; his whole body shifted its balance as if he was going to hit hard with a right hook and he pressed his cheek into Bruce's lips.

He could feel the touch imprint itself on his skin, exactly the same as the lips that had touched his skin that night he almost died in Gotham's Bay. 

Victorious that he had gotten his proof despite the other man's lack of confirmation, Clark stepped back. His childish boast died on his lips when he saw Bruce Kent's expression. 

No longer granite, the eyes were widened in fear, his mouth opened and his whole body was shivering. Clark recognized the look. It was the one on civilians' face when a random criminal would start shooting his submachine gun at a busy public location. 

Bruce Kent was terrorized, pure and simple. 

He fled.

Clark Wayne stood dumbly as the sun's rays slowly perished in the encroaching darkness. 

He had spooked what was probably the world's most powerful person and he had no idea how he had done it. 

He just felt incredibly guilty.


	10. Bruce's "Women"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark tries to meet Bruce again.

"Repeat that. I'm pretty sure I misheard it the first time," Lois said, one eyebrow arched.

Clark cleared his throat. "Uh, I'm looking for... Bruce Kent? Can you help me?"

Lois fixed him with her deadly inquisitive eyes for a full minute. Finally, she relented and drank a sip of water. As she sat back in her chair, she commented, "This is either the most inventive way to ask me on a date or there's a hell of a story behind your request."

Clark hastily pushed back his glasses. "I'm not... sure I follow."

"Look here, Mr. Billionaire heir, the interviewer at this lunch was supposed to be me, yet you're asking me information about the Daily Planet photographer collaborator? This reeks of a bad excuse or a story. Either way, I'm not answering your questions until you give them context."

Clark's fingers found a napkin on the table. He started playing with it nervously as he averted Lois Lane's piercing eyes. He had an act to keep up.

"I... There's really... not much of a story to tell you... I'm afraid. He has pictures I need."

Lois scrunched her nose in disgust; Clark knew there was something he was missing.

Lois's disdain rang true and clear in her voice when she replied, "I see... he's blackmailing you."

Taken aback, Clark furiously blinked. "I'm...? He's..." He was truly baffled by her conclusion.

Lois rolled her eyes and leaned forward. "I may be able to help you if you are willing to give me information on the blackmail."

Clark's mind drew a blank. Blackmail? Why would Bruce blackmail him?

"Why... would you... think he is blackmailing me?" Clark cautiously asked.

Lois pursed her lips. "You're the billionaire heir. You tell me."

Clark blushed. She did make him sound foolish.

"I mean... he's a famous photographer... Why would... he?"

Lois sighed and shrugged. "He comes from the Slums. That is probably how he even got interested in photography in the first place. Bad habits die hard."

Was Lois Lane making assumptions on Bruce Kent's character based on where he once lived?!? Clark's respect for her plummeted.

She leaned back. "I've heard whispers of him blackmailing people for a while now." The engineer had to revise his hasty judgment. Maybe she did rely on things other than prejudice.

"That's why I didn't want him working at the Daily Planet," Lois admitted as she took her glass of water in hand. Her gaze rested dangerously on Clark. She looked much like the predator waiting to swoop in on her prey at their first misstep.

"What does he have on you? Don't worry. I won't use it in my article except if you committed murder, rape or something equally monstrous."

Clark was clearly second-guessing his decision to seek Lois out. It wasn't as if he had much say in the matter; after his frosty meeting with Leslie, he didn't know who else had information on Bruce's whereabouts.

He could still remember Leslie's judgmental eyes effectively pinning him to the wall. "I warned you: I can only give you his schedule. You'll have to do the rest on your own." She had crossed her arms. "Normally, I wouldn't even do that much. I gave it to you in hopes you would become friends, Clark, not because I wanted you to harass Bruce. If you ever come back here without an emergency, I'll put a restraining order on you, even if you are our sponsor's child. I don't care if this becomes a scandal." He could see she was not bluffing.

When he had escaped Leslie's suffocating consultation room, he had spied, in the reception area, the puffy dyed haired teenager he had previously seen looking for Bruce the first time he had attended the clinic. Although he was clearly unwelcomed in the clinic, Clark's venues to find Bruce were somewhat limited.

He had approached the girl. "Miss...?" She had looked started for a moment. "Who are you?"

"I'm Clark Wayne," Clark had politely introduced himself as he proffered his hand to shake.

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "You're that guy..."

Clark nodded and smiled to reassure her. "Yes... Miss?"

"Charlie." She sat still, hands in her lap, and distrust etched in her face.

No matter, the billionaire heir had to try. "I'm... looking for Bruce Kent. Would you have.... any idea where he is?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to steal him away again," Charlie had bitten back with bitterness. After that, she had turned around and had ignored all of his conversational attempts.

Clark had already used his resources to find the man's address or his next job appearance to no avail. Superman didn't respond to having his name called by Clark. Batman was sure Superman would not stay to chat even if there was an emergency. Superman's flight pattern had always been hard to figure out and the last developments had not improved their predictability.

Batman had gotten in contact with an amused looking Wonder Woman and had managed to schedule a tentative first meeting with her, Flash and possibly Green Lantern. Green Arrow, on the other hand, had flatly told him he was not interested to join his 'copycat's group. Batman was pretty sure Green Arrow would relent his macho posturing when he saw how the world needed them coordinated.

Booking an interview with Lois Lane had been his last recourse to contact Bruce before the first "heroes" meeting.

Clark's hands shook as he tried to get into the right role. "I'm bi," he muttered to the table.

Lois gently covered his hand. "That's what Bruce is blackmailing you about?" He could hear her angry timbre.

With Oscar-worthy watering eyes, Clark looked into her sympathetic eyes. Ashamed, Clark averted his gaze. "No...We went on a date... he now refuses to answer my calls... I just want closure... and to make sure he doesn't... publicly out me... Miss Lane... I'm scared."

His puppy eyes must have worked better than he thought; Lois stood and gave him a very comfy hug.

"Call me Lois. I'm so sorry," Lois quietly answered. Clark felt uncertain if his lies had gone too far. He had really just wanted Lois to help him without ushering Bruce in the role of a blackmailer. Maybe this was a bit much?

Lois slowly released him. "Is that why your father kicked you out?"

Oh, shoot. Clark had completely forgotten about that. With his father's reputation at stakes, he stuttered, "No, no. That's... complicated. We both had... dif-different views of my future..."

Which wasn't a lie? Insofar as Lois was aware, this may be a banal story of wealth and children rebelling against the path their parents had prepared for them. She had no reason to suspect Clark's dad didn't 'approve' of his vigilante activities.

Lois touched Clark's cheek. "Are you okay now?"

Clark whimpered for good measure, "Is Bruce... really a blackmailer?"

The reporter deflated. "I'm sure he's not." Clark could have pointed out she had seemed so convinced of it just earlier, but he understood Lois was feeling awful for him. The engineer saw the sharp glint in her eyes that informed him that if Bruce was truly blackmailing him, she'd go on a true warpath with her collaborator. It wasn't often a big man like Clark could inspire a tiny woman like Lois to defend him with this much ferocity.

"Give me your number," Lois ordered. "I'll call you when we get our next assignment together. I'm sure you'll be able to clarify the situation." Or I will, she seemed to be implying.

Clark nodded and gave her his phone number.

It was only when he was seating himself in his car that Clark suddenly started questioning his manipulation techniques. Bruce would be furious about Clark's lies, that was easy to guess. Clark groaned. Convincing Superman to join the hero network had always been a Herculean task, yet, Clark just levelled up his difficulty level.

***

_Fortress of Solitude_

 

"Kal El."

The barely adult Kryptonian haunched his shoulders up in a clearly human learnt defensive move. "I'm not Kal El."

Jor-El's hologram blinked. "I read that socialization is an important part of a healthy human's mental health. They are a species that rely much more on social interactions than Kryptonians did. It might be beneficial for your mental health to follow some of their advice."

"I'm not crazy."

Jor-El lifted one hand. "I never said you were."

Bruce glared at him and stepped forward as he pointed a finger in the hologram's direction. "You think I'm an abomination, sullying the long-standing Kryptonian culture. A stain on their legacy."

The Jor-El hologram looked saddened. "You are not an abomination. You are a survivor, Kal El, and the last of your kind. You are modelling yourself after a primitive culture because of the lack of better models."

He paused. "You have not socialized with humans in over a week. According to the research I have gathered, this is worrying behaviour. I read about coping mechanisms that can help you navigate this world, Kal El."

"Computer, close hologram program." Bruce could see the sad eyes vanish into thin air. He was finally alone, finally, he could breathe.

His cell phone started ringing. Leslie.

Bruce sunk to the floor, protecting himself from the outside world with his hands pressed on his head. Although he had tried to do good, he was too dangerous for humans. He shouldn't interact.

"Bruce, I know you're there. Answer the phone right now or I'm coming to see you myself," Leslie no-nonsense voice came through.

After some deliberation, Bruce picked up the phone. "Yes."

"Bruce, you can't keep torturing yourself for something you didn't even do."

The younger adult wanted to snort.

"You're not a danger to anyone."

'Simply living under a yellow sun makes me dangerous', Bruce wryly thought. 'I shouldn't even be here. I'm the foreign species introduced to this Earth's ecosystem and slowly ravaging it.'

"And what are you going to do about Charlie now?"

Guilt burned through Bruce. He promised he'd accompanied her to her journey's end, no matter how painful that might be for him.

"I'll come back."

"Good." Leslie hung up.

Bruce fidgeted with his cell phone. Bruce Kent had to stay a while longer. Which meant he had to stall Clark Wayne until then.

Bruce composed the number Clark had given Lois Lane and heard the phone ring twice before a voice answered. "Hello?"

"Clark Wayne," Bruce stated. "We need to talk."

To Clark's credit, he didn't sound surprised. "Of course. When should we...?"

"I'll come by the balcony in a few seconds. Disengage your security system."

Bruce looked at his clothes and decided he would attend in his civilian identity. It would be better that way.

He flew and dove into Clark Wayne's balcony. Inside the messed-up living room (which was much nicer than Bruce's), a man waited in his Batman costume.

Last time Bruce had seen it as Superman, he had noticed the armour was made of a blend of Kevlar and other materials. For the most part, Bruce understood the functionality of the suit except for the ears. Why add ears? Did the costume really need to look like a "blue" bat? Not that it really looked like one.

Bruce was still confused about how anyone called Batman 'Batman.' Not that he had much reason to complain. Lois Lane called him Superman and the ridiculous moniker had stayed. And Bruce wore flashy red, white and blue colours. At least, Batman's costume, as ridiculous as it were, was in the colour that melted the best in the dark: dark blue.

Batman waited in his civilian apartment, amongst piles of paper and maps, a smile affixed to his lips and his lenses off. "Bruce."

"Batman," Bruce coldly answered. "Is this place secure?"

Batman nodded. "Soundproof. Microphone proof. Tinted windows. Nobody can hear or see anything in here."

"Good." Bruce walked closer, eyes reading the documents sprayed on the ground faster than the human eye could see him do.

"You know," Batman started in an amused tone. "You can ask my permission to read everything. I don't mind sharing that information."

Bruce glared at the costumed hero, still a few steps away. How did he know? Did Batman have any superpowers Bruce was not aware of? Could he mind-read? Bruce felt a chill crawl up to his spine.

"No, I don't have powers," Batman answered his unspoken question. "I'm just a great human nature observer." That's what a clever mind-reader would say, Bruce couldn't help but think.

"I'm sorry we started on the wrong foot. I didn't mean to startle you last time."

'Startle' was a very polite way of saying 'freak you out.' High society always minimized incidents to gain favours, Bruce thought.

The photographer's hostile silence didn't deter Clark's seemingly unflappable optimism. "Let's introduce ourselves again. Hi, Bruce. My name is Clark Wayne. I operate in Gotham as a vigilante under the name Batman. Nice to meet you." Batman offered his hand.

Was that the trap?

Had Batman figured out why Bruce had 'freaked out'?

Nothing in Clark's stance offered any clue. Bruce reminded himself he needed to stall his search. He shook the hand while thinking of all the worse people he had once shaken hands with.

The cold gauntlet pressed hard on his skin; hard enough to remind Bruce that Clark knew his secret identity. The smile on Clark's face was only slightly mischievous yet still sincerely regretful.

Bruce brought back his hand with a tad too much hurry to be natural. He retreated one step further.

"I forgot," Clark added, "I did invent a story to your colleague Lois Lane on why I'm looking for you."

Bruce scoffed. "I don't care what she thinks of me."

Batman tilted his head in slight curiosity. "Even if she thinks you're a blackmailer?"

Bruce calmly stated, "I am."

For the first time since the start of the conversation, Batman seemed genuinely surprised. "What?"

Of all things to be surprised about Bruce... This was ridiculous, Bruce thought as he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I blackmail people with photos. Don't act surprised. You caught me doing it." Slow dawning realization washed over the semi-hidden face. Maybe this would be enough to deter him from counting Superman as a 'hero' in his hero network?

"You blackmail lesser crime criminals into stopping their crime life? That's kind of brilliant!"

Nope. It hadn't worked at all... plus Batman had gotten the entirely wrong impression of Bruce once again. Seriously, what was wrong with him?!?

Bruce growled, "Now, get to the point of why you were looking for me."

Batman's face turned solemn. "I once asked you to join our hero network. I'd like to ask you again. Would you like to join? We'd be more than happy to have you join."

"I'm not joining your "network." I work alone."

Batman seemed to consider that for a moment. "But, we could use your help. As you have seen when a plane almost crashed in Central City. We could avoid further casualties with your help."

Bruce knew Batman was using flattery to get him to agree.

Still, it wasn't as if Batman hadn't made a valid point; they could use his help. He was staying as Bruce Kent for some time still...

It was a bad idea.

The governments would not leave him alone especially if they saw how powerful he was. But... maybe, showing some of his capacities would distract the rest of the world from looking too closely into the other 'heroes' powers. Then, when Bruce Kent would disappear from existence, the world would keep looking for the outside threat known as Superman. Maybe, it would be enough to distract them...

It was a stupid idea.

Clark's eyes shined with hope. Except for Bruce's parents, nobody had ever looked at Bruce like that. The pit in his stomach seemed to swallow him up. Bruce didn't want to disappoint Clark, no matter how ridiculous his quest was.

It was a foolish idea.

"Fine, I'll join your hero network, but only as a temporary member."

Clark flashed his teeth. "Thanks. I'm sure you won't regret it."

After Clark had given him the meeting information, Bruce swiftly flew away, declining Clark's tea offer.

It was only when he was safely back in the Fortress that Bruce asked himself why he had changed his mind.

The photographer felt even more uneasy. Did Clark have mind-altering capacities?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark Wayne's puppy eyes have been activated. It is super effective!


	11. Riddle me this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman has to stop a new Gotham villain.

"F, do you have any visuals on the target?" Batman asked into his communicator.

"Negative," the thinly disguised voice of Lucius Fox answered.

Batman steadied himself on the corniche. 

Below, the Gotham avenue roared to life in all of its night's glory- basically, all the shady elements of the city coming back to life in a neverending nightmare. In this older section of the town, bright neon lights illuminated the gothic architecture opposing it. Many of the upper crust had complained when the burned down block had been bought by low-end businesses, keen on the Old Gotham placement. From Clark's pragmatic perspective, the neon lights enhanced the distance between the rooftops and the ground.

A long time ago, Clark would have feared the heights. 

Now, he was thankful his father was of the face-your-fears school. Acrophobia couldn't be Batman's weakness, not in a city like Gotham, where even the roads induced vertigo.

"Batman," F called out. "Gordon is on the line. He has some information. Shall I patch him in?"

"Please do," Clark asked as he squinted around. 

"Batman, it's like you predicted; he left us clues again," Jim's voice curtly explained. "How did you know?"

Batman used his grappling gun to swing to the next building. "He's been leaving us clues since the start. He commissioned an assassin to kill Harvey with a question mark; he left the arms' dealer's information in the sinking ship; his hacking at Wayne Entreprises was made to be caught, but not stopped. He's playing with us."

It was almost as if the strange person meant to test them, instead of reaching each of his objectives. It was beginning to become increasingly transparent that the mystery person was paid for by villains.

"What are the clues?" Batman asked as he surveyed the rooftop. 

"The first graffiti says: 'What belongs to you, but other people use it more than you?'" 

Clark had heard that one before. "It's a name. Next one."

"To cross the water I'm the way, For water I'm above: I touch it not and, truth to say, I neither swim nor move.  
What am I?"

This one was even easier than the first. "Bridge. Next one."

There was a silence on the other side. "That's all we have."

Clark reviewed the answers. Name. Bridge. 

He closed his eyes. Usually, people would assume the villain meant the bridge's name was important, however that seemed too easy. 

Bridge. Name. Six letters. Four letters. 

That wasn't it. 

There were two bridges in Gotham. Robinson Bridge. Tri-gate Bridge.

Robinson was also the name of a park in Gotham. 

No. That wasn't it. 

Bridge was also a term used on boats. And, if Clark could remember correctly, there was a boat named "Name" docked in Gotham. He'd always found it peculiar. The owner had either a horrible sense of humour or a lack of imagination. 

Still, it felt too easy. 

Maybe Bridge was a name. 

"F," Batman called in his communicator, "Please look into people named Bridge in Gotham. Jim, could you have your men secure the two bridges and the boat with the name "Name"?"

"I'm on it," Lucius Fox replied. 

"I already sent some men to secure the bridges. I'll send some for the boat," Jim responded.

Good. Now, if Clark could figure out where the mystery man was.

N.A.M.E. B.R.I.D.G.E

Wasn't that..?

"According to my quick research, there are two men called Bridge in Gotham." 

Jim asked, "Give me the addresses, F; I'll send some of my men."

Batman let them figure out the stray leads. He knew where the mystery man hid. 

"He's in the unnamed train station on the West side of town," Batman announced. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Jim, could you make sure I have a backup? We're not exactly sure what we're up against." 

"No problem, Batman," Jim replied. "I have the other locations covered."

Clark grappled down in the less busy side of the building. His car was already waiting for him. Lucius was a find, he thought, as he entered his car.

It was too bad his search for clues on the site hadn't given him any clues; Clark would have to confront the clever and mysterious person for information. 

"F, could you analyze the list of Wayne Entreprises' employees again?"

"What am I looking for?"

"Someone clever who's probably gotten into trouble when bored."

Clark could hear Fox's urgent typing as he moved swiftly among the rooftops. 

"I'm almost there," Batman announced. "Is backup on its way?"

"Yes," Jim grimly answered. 

"Good," Batman replied before lowering himself on the only unnamed train station in Gotham... It wasn't unnamed per se. The mayor of the time, Mr. Hitchlock, had gone a bit narcissistic at the end of his term. After the city council denied his proposal of renaming one of the bridges after himself, Mayor Hitchlock, in retribution, named one train station "Bridge." Appalled by the mayor's gall yet unwilling to start another senseless fight, the city council members (other than the mayor) conspired to have no name printed on the physical location or on any city maps, thus confusing generations of civilians using the transit system.

A long time ago, when Clark's mother had recounted that story, Clark and his father had laughed to tears. The Kanes, Clark's mother's maiden name, had been the head of the city council's conspirators at the time. It was one of Clark's favourite Gotham stories.

Now, as Batman stalked the location, the lightheartedness had disappeared. This man had been hacking successfully into Wayne Enterprises for months; he'd almost had Harvey Dent killed in a busy courtroom and; he'd planned for Batman's death on a boat. Whoever this was; he was a murderer.

"Greetings, Batman," an annoyingly smug voice came from the speakers. "It seems you're as clever as they say you are."

Batman's fists clenched. "Who are you?" he casually asked, hoping to acquire more information on this man. 

"I'm from the most sublime of professions of creative designs. My name rhyme with a puzzler. I play with words and your brain. What am I?"

"A fuller?" Batman replies.

There was a painful silence. Clark has almost finished scoping the place for tricks. There was nothing special set up on the ground below. Speakers and their wires were the only things of note. Except for that, the rooftop was slightly wet with water, Batman carefully noted.

"No!" An aggravated voice snarled. "I take back what I previously said. You're not clever at all. This is a waste of my time."

"At least, that, we can agree on," Batman mused, a small grin affixed on his lips. He tilted his head in the speaker's direction."Who are you again?"

"I'm the one and only Riddler!"

Batman shook his head as he tsked. "'One and only' is too cliche. If you're as clever as you claim to be, maybe you should upgrade your vocabulary."

Lucius Fox whispered in his communicator: "I got a match. Edward Nigma. He was a disgruntled employee working at market analysis. A few years back, he was fired for failure to be a team player." Lucius interrupted himself.

"His manager then got 'mysteriously' exposed as a fraud a week after Edward had been let go. Even though there was a total absence of evidence, every member of the market analysis section agreed that Edward had done it. He never got charged."

Clark almost pitied the socially inept guy. Even his villain name was ridiculous: who could ever be taken seriously with a name such as the Riddler? 

"Riddler," Batman said, "we can put an end to this peacefully."

"You think you're in control, don't you?" an angered voice replied. "Riddle me this. I burn, yet I am not fire. I usually flow on a current, yet, I am never wet. I go from one place to another in the blink of an eye. Who am I?"

Clark's mind snapped to attention. Batman needed to get out now. He sent his grappling hook and jumped off the rooftop. He could feel the electrical current pass through the wires into the wet rooftop; he almost could feel the tingle associated with electrical shock; a burn Clark had once learn, on a practical level, was more dangerous than chemical or thermal burns. Electrical burns, Batman remembered as the air buzzed with energy, often affect the organs and even shock the brain. There was that time in Uzbekistan where Clark had-No, there was no time for reminiscence.

"Batman, are you okay?" a worried Fox asked on the communicator. 

"He almost electrocuted me to death, but I'm fine." Batman's heart had resumed its steady rate. The Riddler might have shown his hands prematurely.

"Is there anyone on the roofs with eyes on the train station?"

"Yes," Lucius responded a minute later. "There's a man dressed in green near the publicity board on your west end. He's escaping by the fire escape on the 115th apartment building on Twenty-Third Avenue."

Batman included Jim on the line. "Are you at the location, Jim?"

"Almost. Why?"

"Don't bother coming to the train station. The target is dressed in green and near the 115th Apartment building on Twenty-third Avenue. I'll herd him into your care."

"On it," Jim responded. 

Batman grappled until he could see his target descending the fire escape. Lucius had said green. He hadn't mentioned the hat nor the flashy look green look. Clark supposed it came with the name's ridiculousness.

Eyes on target, Batman closely watched for more weapons on the man; the last thing he wanted was an injured bystander. As long as the Riddler thought nobody was on his tail, he probably wouldn't draw attention to himself. Once cornered though, he might be desperate enough to show his hand. The gangs' war had already taken enough innocent lives in Gotham. The citizens didn't need more reasons to fear living here.

Once Jim was in place, Batman fell on the Riddler and controlled their fall as to avoid tumbling down the stairs. Within a few moments, Riddler was manacled and pinned by Batman. The shock was etched on the wiry man's face. 

"Let's get you into the police's custody so you won't hurt anyone else," Batman tugged the man upward. Up close, there was nothing impressive about the Riddler's physical appearance; Batman easily towered the villain. "You should probably seek counselling," Batman recommended in a softer tone. "I'm sure there are other ways to express your frustration."

Edward's eyes bulged as he snarled, "Don't patronize me, Batman! Next time, I'll win."

Batman slightly pushed him towards the stairs' bottom. "This isn't about winning or losing, Edward."

The other man stilled. "You know who I am?"

"You're Edward Nigma and you seem to have stopped working legal jobs to undertake criminal tasks. I'm sure the DA would offer you a more generous deal if you give information about the people backing you."

Riddler smirked. "The DA's office, the police, the famous Wayne Enterprises... They're all rotten from the core out." Batman hated hearing that diagnosis; he could remember the days he had refused to come outside of his room; the days he had realized just how bad his city had gotten. Staring blankly at a mirror, Clark had discerned, a lifetime ago, how rotten this world was. That day, he swore to fight the putrid stench of Gotham. 

That was why Batman existed.

Riddler was turned over to Jim's capable custody- on one of Batman's first outing, he had learned he couldn't leave offenders into a random cops' hands, it was a costly mistake to have made. 

Clark went back to his empty apartment. Before turning in to sleep a meagre amount of hours, Clark asked Lucius if there was any news he should be made aware. 

"The gangs are still escalating the conflict," Lucius noted tiredly. "And two of your colleagues made the front news."

Clark frowned. Wonder Woman? And who?

"Flash made some property damages. Superman gave an interview on national television."

Damages. Clark would have to verify what had happened; it was probably due to a fight. It seems the villains that cropped up were more and more dangerous and eccentric. 

Clark rubbed his eyes and almost got lulled to sleep while he was still wearing his suit's leggings. 

Superman gave an interview on national television. 

What?!?

Superman, the elusive superhero? Bruce, the almost nonexistent man? 

They had both kept their appearances to a minimum. Superman shunned cameras and seldom spoke except to flirt. 

And he just gave an interview on national television!?!

Clark pressed a hand to his forehead to forestall his headache.

Had he completely misread Superman's and Bruce's personality? 

To hell with sleep!

He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Clark pushed himself up and grabbed his computer. Frowning, he read the absurd news' titles. 

What the?!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't have posted it just after I had just finished writing it... 
> 
> Oh, well, I was getting frustrated with the amount of time it took me to write this. Proof-reading aside, I hope you still enjoyed it.


End file.
